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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


HUCKLEBERRIES 


GATHERED  FROM  NEW  ENGLAND 
HILLS 


BY 


ROSE  TERRY   COOKE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

(iC&e  fctoersibe  Pre$&  Cambriboc 

1896 


Copyright,  1891, 
BY  ROSE  TERRY  COOKE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


P5I392 
H83 


I  OFFER  THIS  SHEAF  OF  STORIES  TO 

MY  DEAREST  FRIEND 
ANNIE  TRUMBULL  SLOSSON 

AS  A  SLIGHT  EXPRESSION  OF  MY  DEEP  LOVE 
AND  GRATITUDE 

"  There  is  a  friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother  " 


941352 


PREFACE. 


I  HAVE  called  this  latest  collection  of  New  Eng 
land  stories  by  the  name  of  a  wild  berry  that  has 
always  seemed  to  me  typical  of  the  New  England 
character. 

Hardy,  sweet  yet  spicy,  defying  storms  of  heat  or 
cold  with  calm  persistence,  clinging  to  a  poor  soil, 
barren  pastures,  gray  and  rocky  hillsides,  yet  draw 
ing  fruitful  issues  from  scanty  sources,  it  is  most 
fitly  celebrated  by  our  own  great  poet :  — 

"  There  's  a  berry  blue  and  gold,  — 
Autumn-ripe,  its  juices  hold 
Sparta's  stoutness,  Bethlehem's  heart, 
Asia's  rancor,  Athens'  art, 
Slow-sure  Britain's  secular  might 
And  the  German's  inward  sight." 

"  What  can  the  man  say  that  cometh  after  the  King  ?  " 

R  T.  C. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


MARY  ANN'S  MIND    ........  35 

LOVE     ••-......  58 

ODD  Miss  TODD        ......  35 

&N  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING    .....  122 

HOPSON'S  CHOICE      .......  152 

CLARY'S  TRIAL      .......  183 

A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING       .....  227 

.HOME  AGAIN        ........  259 

How  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND    .....  284 

A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE  ....  3 


HUCKLEBERRIES. 


GRIT. 

"LOOK  a-here,  Phoebe,  I  won't  hev  no  such 
goin's-on  here.  That  feller 's  got  to  make  tracks. 
I  don't  want  none  o'  Jake  Potter's  folks  round,  'nd 
you  may  as  well  lay  your  account  with  it,  'nd  fix 
accordin'." 

Phcebe  Fyler  set  her  teeth  together,  and  looked 
her  father  in  the  face  with  her  steady  gray  eyes ; 
but  she  said  nothing,  and  the  old  man  scrambled 
up  into  his  rickety  wagon  and  drove  off. 

"  Fyler  grit "  was  a  proverb  in  Pasco,  and  old 
Reuben  did  credit  to  the  family  reputation.  But 
his  share  of  "  grit "  was  not  simply  endurance,  per 
severance,  dogged  persistence,  and  courage,  but  a 
most  unlimited  obstinacy  and  full  faith  in  his  own 
wisdom.  Phcebe  was  his  own  child,  and  when 
things  came  to  an  open  struggle  between  them,  it 
was  hard  to  tell  which  would  conquer. 

There  had  been  a  long  quarrel  between  the  Fy- 

lers  and  Potters  —  such  a  quarrel  as  can  only  be 

found  in  little  country  villages,  where  people  are 

j  thrown  so  near  together  and  have  so  little  to  divert 


2  ;•.         \:  .  •  ••  ;    •     GRIT. 

:their'mji}ds  thai  they- become  as  belligerent  as  a 
'company  •  of-  'passengers  on  a  sailing  vessel  —  fire 
easily  and  smoulder  long.  But  Phoebe  Fyler  was 
a  remarkably  pretty  girl,  with  great,  clear  gray 
eyes,  a  cheek  like  the  wild  rose,  abundance  of  soft 
brown  hair,  and  a  sweet  firm  mouth  and  square 
cleft  chin  that  told  their  own  story  of  Fyler  blood ; 
and  Tom  Potter  was  a  smart,  energetic,  fiery  young 
fellow,  ready  to  fight  for  his  rights  and  then  to 
shake  hands  with  his  enemy,  whichever  beat. 
There  was  no  law  to  prevent  his  falling  in  love 
with  Phoebe  because  their  fathers  had  hated  each 
other ;  indeed,  that  was  rather  an  inducement. 
His  honest,  generous  heart  looked  on  the  family 
feud  with  pity  and  regret.  He  would  like  to  can 
cel  it,  especially  if  marrying  Phoebe  would  do  it. 

And  why  should  she  hate  him  ?  Her  father  wag 
an  old  tyrant  in  his  family;  and  the  feeble,  pale 
mother,  who  had  always  trembled  at  his  step  since 
the  girl  could  remember,  had  never  taught  her  to 
love  her  father,  because  she  did  not  love  him  herself. 
Obedience,  indeed,  was  ground  into  Phoebe.  It  was 
obey  or  suffer  in  that  family,  and  the  rod  hanging 
over  the  shelf  was  not  in  vain.  But  when  she  grew 
up,  and  left  the  childish  instinct  or  habit  behind 
her,  and  the  Fyler  grit  developed,  she  had  the 
sense  to  avoid  an  open  conflict  whenever  she  could, 
for  her  mother's  sake. 

This,  however,  was  a  matter  of  no  small  impor 
tance  to  Phoebe.  She  had  met  Tom  Potter  time 
after  time  at  sewing  societies,  sleigh  rides,  huckle- 


GRIT.  3 

berryings,  and  other  rustic  amusements ;  they  sat 
together  in  the  singers'  seat,  they  went  to  rehearsal ; 
but  Tom  had  never  come  home  with  her  until 
lately,  and  then  always  parted  at  the  doorsilL 
Now  he  had  taken  the  decisive  step ;  he  had 
come  Sunday  evening  to  call,  and  every  Pasco  girl 
knew  what  that  meant.  It  was  a  declaration. 
But  while  Phoebe's  heart  beat  at  his  clear  whis 
tle  outside,  and  stood  still  at  his  knock,  she  saw 
with  dismay  her  father  rise  to  open  the  door. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Fyler." 

"  How  de  do  ?  how  de  do  ?  "  was  the  sufficiently 
cordial  reply ;  for  the  old  man  was  half  blind,  and 
by  the  flicker  of  his  tallow  candle  could  noway  dis 
cern  who  his  visitor  might  be. 

"  I  don't  really  make  out  who  ye  be,"  he  went 
on,  peering  into  the  darkness. 

"  My  name  's  Potter.     Is  Phoebe  to  home  ?  " 

"Jake  Potter's  son?" 

"  Yes,  I  be.     Is  Phcebe  to  home  ?  " 

An  ominous  flash  from  Tom's  black  eyes  accen 
tuated  the  question  this  time,  but  old  Reuben  was 
too  blind  to  see  it.  He  drew  back  the  candle,  and 
said,  in  a  surly  but  decisive  tone,  — 

"  'T  ain't  no  matter  to  you  ef  she  is  or  ef  she 
ain't,"  and  calmly  shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

For  a  moment  Tom  Potter  was  furious.  De 
cency  forbade  that  he  should  take  the  door  off  its 
rackety  hinges,  like  Samson  at  the  gates  of  Gaza, 
but  he  felt  a  strong  impulse  to  do  so,  and  then  an 
equally  strong  one  to  laugh,  for  the  affair  had  its 


4  GRIT. 

humorous  side.  The  result  was  that  neither  humor 
nor  anger  prevailed ;  but  as  he  strode  away,  a  fixed 
purpose  to  woo  and  marry  Phoebe,  "whether  or 
no,"  took  possession  of  him. 

"  I  '11  see  ef  Potter  faculty  can't  match  Fyler 
grit,"  he  muttered  to  himself ;  and  not  without 
reason,  for  the  Potters  had  that  trait  which  con 
quers  the  world  far  more  surely  and  subtly  than 
grit,  —  "  faculty,"  i.  e.,  a  clear  head  and  a  quick 
wit,  and  capacity  of  adaptation  that  wrests  from 
circumstance  its  stringent  sceptre,  and  is  the 
talisman  of  what  the  world  calls  "  luck." 

In  the  mean  time  Phcebe,  by  the  kitchen  fire,  sat 
burning  with  rage.  Her  father  came  back  chuck 
ling. 

"  I  've  sent  that  spark  up  chimney  pretty  ever- 
lastin'  quick." 

Phoebe's  red  lips  parted  for  a  rude  answer,  but 
her  mother  signaled  to  her  from  beyond  the  fire 
place,  and  the  sad  pale  face  had  its  usual  effect 
on  her.  She  knew  that  sore  heart  would  ache 
beyond  any  sleep  if  she  and  her  father  came  to 
words  ;  so  she  took  up  her  candle  to  go  to  bed,  but 
she  did  not  escape. 

"  You  've  no  need  to  be  a-muggin'  about  that  fel 
ler,  Phoebe,"  cackled  the  old  man  after  her.  "  He 
won't  never  darken  my  doors,  nor  your'n  nuther ; 
so  ye  jest  stop  a-hankerin'  arter  him,  right  off  slap. 
The  idee !  a  Potter  a-comin'  here  arter  you !  " 

Phoebe's  eyes  blazed.  She  stopped  on  the  lower 
stair,  and  spoke  sharply,  — 


GBIT.  5 

"  Mebbe  you  '11  find  there  's  more  things  can  go 
out  o'  the  chimney  than  sparks,"  and  then  hurried 
up,  banging  the  door  behind  her  in  very  womanish 
fashion,  and  burst  into  tears  as  soon  as  she  reached 
her  room. 

It  was  Tuesday  morning  when  old  Fyler  drove 
from  his  door,  hurling  the  words  at  the  beginning 
of  our  story  at  Phoebe,  on  the  doorstep. 

He  had  found  out  that  Tom  Potter  had  gone  to 
Hartford  the  day  before  for  a  week's  stay,  and 
took  the  chance  to  drive  sixteen  miles  down  the 
river  on  some  business,  sure  that  in  his  day's 
absence  Tom  could  not  get  back  to  Pasco,  and 
Phoebe  would  be  safe. 

But  man  proposes  in  vain  sometimes.     Mr.  Fy 
ler  did  his  errand  at  Taunton,  ate  his  dinner  at 
the  dirty  little  tavern,  and  set  out  for  home.     As 
he  was  jogging  quietly  along,  laying  plans  for  the 
easy  discomfiture  of  Tom  and  Phoebe,  a  loud  roll  of 
wheels   roused   him,  a  muffled  roar  like  a  heavy 
pulse  beat,  a  shriek  as  of  ten  thousand  hysterical 
females,  and  right  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  old  Jerry  • 
appeared   a  locomotive  under  full   headway,  com-  \ 
ing  round  a  curve  of  the  track,  which  the  old  man  \ 
had   either   forgotten,  or   not  known,   ran  beside 
the   highway  for  nearly  half  a   mile.     Jerry  was 
old  and  sober  and  steady,  but  what  man  even  could 
bear  the  sudden  and  unforeseen  charge  of  a  rail-  j 
way  engine  bearing  down  upon  him  face  to  face  ? 
The  horse  started,  reared,  jumped  aside,  and  tookl 
to  his  heels  for  dear  life  ;  the  wagon  tilted  up  on  a* 


t>  GEIT. 

convenient  stone,  and  threw  the  driver  violently 
out ;  but  in  all  the  shock  and  terror  the  "  Fyler 
grit "  never  failed.  With  horny  hands  he  grasped 
the  reins  so  powerfully  that  the  horse  could  drag 
him  but  a  few  steps  before  he  was  stopped  by  the 
weight  on  the  bit,  and  then,  as  Eeuben  tried  to 
gather  himself  out  of  the  dust  and  consider  the 
situation,  he  found  that  one  leg  hung  helpless 
from  the  knee,  his  cheek  and  forehead  were  well 
grazed,  and  his  teeth  —  precious  possession,  over 
whose  cost  he  had  groaned  and  perspired  as  a  ne 
cessary  but  dreadful  expense  —  had  disappeared 
entirely.  This  was  the  worst  blow.  Half  blind, 
1  with  a  terrified  horse  and  a  broken  leg,  totally 
i  alone  and  seventy-seven  years  old,  who  else  would 
ihave  stopped  to  consider  their  false  teeth  ?  But  he 
dragged  himself  over  the  ground,  holding  the  reins 
with  one  hand,  groping  and  fumbling  in  the  dust, 
till  fortunately  the  missing  set  was  found,  unin 
jured  by  wheel  or  stone,  but  considerably  mixed 
up  with  kindred  clay. 

"  Whoa,  I  tell  ye  !  whoa  !  "  shouted  the  old  man 
to  Jerry,  who,  with  wild  eyes  and  erect  ears,  stood 
quivering  and  eager  to  be  off. 

"  Darn  ye,  stan'  still !  "  and  jerking  the  reins 
by  way  of  comment,  he  crept  and  hitched  himself 
toward  the  wagon.  Jerry  looked  round,  and 
seemed  to  understand  the  situation.  He  set  down 
the  pawing  forefoot,  lowered  the  pointed  ears,  and, 
though  he  trembled  still,  stood  as  a  rock  might, 
till,  with  pain  and  struggle,  his  master  raised  him- 


GEIT.  7 

self  on  one  foot  against  the  wheel,  and,  setting  his 
lips  tight,  contrived  to  get  into  the  wagon,  and 
on  to  the  seat.  "  Git  up !  "  he  said,  and  Jerry 
started  with  a  spring  that  brought  a  dark  flush  of 
pain  to  the  old  man's  cheek.  But  he  did  not  stop 
nor  stay  for  pain.  "  Git  up,  I  tell  ye !  We  've 
got  to  git  as  fur  as  Baxter,  anyhow.  Go  'long, 
Jerry."  And  on  he  drove,  though  the  broken  leg, 
beginning  to  swell  and  press  on  the  stiff  boot-leg, 
gave  him  exquisite  pain.  But  a  mile  or  two  passed 
before  he  met  any  one,  for  it  was  just  noon,  and 
all  the  countryfolk  were  at  their  dinner.  At  last 
a  man  appeared  in  the  distance,  and  Reuben  drew 
up  by  the  roadside,  and  shouted  to  him  to  stop. 
It  proved  to  be  an  Irishman,  on  his  way  to  a  farm 
just  below. 

"  Say,  have  ye  got  a  jackknife  ?  "  was  Reuben's 
salutation. 

"  Yis,  surr,  I  have  that ;  and  a  fuss-rate  knoife 
as  iver  ye  see.  What 's  wantin'  ?  " 

"Will  yer  ole  hoss  stan'  a  spell?  " 

"  Sure  he  '11  stand  till  the  day  afther  niver,  av 
I  'd  let  him.  It 's  standin'  he  takes  to  far  more 
than  goin'." 

"  Then  you  git  out,  will  ye,  'nd  fetch  yer  knife 
over  here  'nd  cut  my  boot-leg  down." 

"  What  'n  the  wurrld  are  ye  afther  havin'  yer 
boot  cut  for  ?  "  queried  the  Irishman,  clambering 
down  to  the  ground. 

"  Well,  I  got  spilt  out  a  piece  back.  Hoss  got 
skeert  by  one  o'  them  pesky  ingines,  'nd  I  expect 


8  GRIT. 

I  broke  my  leg.  It 's  kinder  useless,  'nd  it 's  kep' 
a-swellin'  ever  sence,  so  's 't  it  hurts  like  blazes,  I 
tell  ye." 

"  The  divil  an'  all  —  broke  yer  leg,  man  alive  ? 
An'  how  did  ye  get  back  to  the  waggin  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wriggled  in  somehow.  Come,  be  quick  ! 
I  want  to  git  to  Baxter  right  off." 

"  Why,  is  it  mad  ye  are  ?  Turn  about,  man. 
There  's  Kinney's  farm  just  beyant  a  bit.  Come  in 
there.  I  '11  fetch  the  docthor  for  yez." 

"  No,  I  won't  stop.  I  must  git  to  the  tavern  to 
Baxter  fust ;  then  I  '11  go  home,  if  I  can  fix  it." 

"  The  Lord  help  ye,  thin,  ye  poor  old  crathur !  " 

"You  help  me  fust,  and  don't  jaw  no  more." 

And  so  snapped  at,  the  astounded  Irishman  pro 
ceeded  to  cut  the  boot  off  —  a  slow  and  painful 
process,  but  of  some  relief  when  over ;  and  Jerry 
soon  heard  the  word  of  command  to  start  forward. 
Three  more  hard  uphill  miles  brought  them  to  the 
tavern,  just  at  the  entrance  of  Baxter,  and  Jerry 
stopped  at  the  backdoor. 

"  Hullo  !  "  shouted  the  old  man ;  and  the  man 
who  kept  the  house  rose  from  his  armchair  with  a 
yawn  and  sauntered  leisurely  to  the  piazza.  But 
his  steps  quickened  as  soon  as  he  found  out  what 
was  the  matter,  and  with  neighborly  aid  Mr.  Fyler 
was  soon  carried  upstairs  and  laid  on  a  bed,  and 
the  doctor  sent  for.  "  Say,  don't  ye  give  Jerry  no 
oats,  now  I  tell  ye.  I  won't  pay  for  'em.  He 's 
used  to  hay,  'nd  he  '11  get  a  mess  o'  meal  to-night 
arter  we  get  home." 


GEIT.  9 

"  Why,  you  can't  get  home  to-night !  "  exclaimed 
the  landlord. 

"  Can't  I  ?  I  will,  anyhow,  ye  'd  better  believe. 
I  've  got  to  be  there  whether  or  no.  Where 's  that 
darned  doctor  ?  Brush  the  dirt  off'n  my  coat,  will 
ye?  'nd  here,  jest  rence  off  them  teeth,"  handing 
them  out  of  his  pocket.  "  I  lost  'em  out,  'nd  hed 
to  scrape  round  in  the  dirt  quite  a  spell  afore  I 
found  'em." 

"  Well,  I  swan  to  man ! "  ejaculated  the  land 
lord.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  you  hunted  round 
after  them  'ere  things  after  you  'd  got  a  broke 
leg?" 

"  Sure 's  you  live,  sir.  I  hitched  around  just 
like  a  youngster  a-learnin'  to  creep,  'nd  drawed  my 
leg  along  back  side  o'  me ;  I  'm  kinder  blind,  ye 
see,  or  I  should  ha'  found  'em  quicker." 

"  By  George !  ef  you  hain't  got  the  most  grit !  " 
And  the  landlord  went  off  to  tell  his  tale  in  the 
office. 

"  Take  him  up  a  drink  o'  rum,  Joe,"  was  the  com 
ment  of  a  hearer.  "  I  know  him.  He  polishes  his 
nose  four  times  a  week,  you  bet ;  rum  's  kinder 
nateral  to  him.  His  dad  kep'  a  corner  grocery. 
A  drink  '11  do  him  good.  I  '11  stan'  treat,  fur  he  's 
all-fired  close.  He  'd  faint  away  afore  he  'd  buy  a 
drink,  fur  he  'stills  his  own  cider-brandy.  But 
flesh  an'  blood  can't  allers  go  it  on  grit,  ef  't  is 
Fyler  grit,  'nd  he  '11  feel  considerable  mean  afore 
the  doctor  gets  here.  Fetch  him  up  a  good  stiff 
sling,  'nd  chalk  it  down  to  me," 


10  GEIT. 

A  kindly  and  timely  tonic  the  sling  seemed  to 
be,  and  the  old  fellow  took  it  with  great  ease. 

"  Taste  kinder  nateral  ?  "  inquired  the  interested 
landlord,  with  suspended  spoon. 

"  It 's  reel  refrashin',"  was  the  long-delayed  an 
swer,  as  the  empty  tumbler  went  back  to  join  the 
unoccupied  spoon.  "Now  fetch  on  yer  doctor." 
And  without  a  groan  or  a  word  the  old  man  bore  the 
examination,  which  revealed  the  fact  that  both  bones 
of  the  leg  were  fractured  ;  or,  as  the  landlord  ex 
pressed  it*  to  a  gaping  and  expectant  crowd  outside, 
"  His  leg 's  broke  short  off  in  two  places."  With 
out  any  more  ado  Eeuben  bore  the  setting  and 
splinting  of  the  crushed  limb,  and  accepted  meekly 
another  dose  of  the  "  refrashin'  "  fluid  from  the 
bar-room.  "  Now,  doctor,  I  want  to  be  a-travelin' 
right  off." 

"  Traveling  !  where  to  ?  "  demanded  the  doctor, 
glaring  at  him  over  his  spectacles. 

"  Where  to  !  why,  back  to  our  folks's,  to 
Pasco." 

"  You  travel  to  the  land  of  Nod,  man.  Go  to 
sleep ;  you  won't  see  Pasco  to-day  nor  to-mor 
row." 

"  I  'm  a-goin',  anyhow.  I  tell  ye  I  've  got  ter. 
Important  bizness.  I  would  n't  be  kep'  here  for  a 
thousand  dollars." 

The  doctor  saw  a  hot  flush  rise  to  his  face,  and 
an  ominous  glitter  invade  the  dull  eye.  He  knew 
his  man,  and  he  knew  what  determined  opposition 
and  helplessness  might  do  for  him.  At  seventy- 


GEIT.  11 

seven,  a  broken  leg  is  no  trifle ;  but  if  fever  sets 
in,  matters  become  complicated. 

44  Well,"  he  said,  by  way  of  humoring  the  refrac 
tory  patient,  "'  if  you  're  bound  to  go,  you  must  go 
to-night ;  to-morrow  '11  be  harder  for  you  to  move." 
And  with  a  friendly  nod  he  left  the  room,  and  the 
landlord  followed  him. 

"  Ye  don't  expect  he  's  a-goin'  to  go,  do  ye, 
doctor  ?  " 

"  Lord,  man !  he  might  as  well  stand  on  his 
head !  Still,  you  don't  know  old  Reub  Fyler,  per 
haps.  He  's  as  clear  grit  as  a  grindstone,  and  if 
he  is  bound  to  go,  he  '11  go  ;  heaven  nor  earth  won't 
stop  him,  nor  men  neither."  And  the  doctor 
stepped  into  his  sulky  and  drove  off. 

An  hour  afterward  Reuben  Fyler  insisted  on 
being  sent  home.  A  neighbor  from  Pasco,  who 
had  come  down  after  grain  with  a  long  wagon, 
heard  of  the  accident,  and  happened  in. 

"  I  'm  bound  to  git  home,  John  Barnes,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  I  've  got  ter ;  I  've  got  bizness. 
Well,  I  might  as  well  tell  ye,  that  darned  Potter 
feller  's  a-snakin'  'nd  a-sneakin'  round  arter  Phosbe, 
'nd  ef  I  'm  laid  up  here,  he  '11  be  hangin'  round 
there  as  sure  as  guns.  Fust  I  know  they  '11  up  'nd 
git  merried.  I  '11  see  him  hanged  fust !  I  'm  goin' 
hum  to-night.  I  can  keep  her  under  my  thumb  ef 
I  'm  there  ;  but  ye  know  how  't  is :  when  the  cat 's 
away  " — 

"  H'm  !  "  said  John  Barnes  —  a  man  slow  of 
speech,  but  perceptive.  "  Well,  ef  you  're  bound 


12  GRIT. 

to  go,  you  can  have  my  waggin,  'nd  I  '11  drive 
your'n  up.'* 

"  But  change  tosses ;  I  can't  drive  no  hoss  but 
Jerry." 

"  You  drive ! "  exclaimed  John,  in  unfeigned 
astonishment. 

"  My  arms  ain't  broke,  I  tell  ye,  'nd  I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  pay  nobody  for  what  I  can  do  myself, 
you  can  jest  swear  to  that." 

And  John  Barnes  retreated  to  hold  council  with 
the  bar-room  loungers.  But  remonstrance  was  in 
vain.  About  five  o'clock  the  long  wagon  was 
brought  up.  the  seat  shoved  quite  back  to  the  end, 
and  an  extempore  bed  made  of  flour  bags,  hay,  and 
old  buffalo-robes  on  the  floor  of  the  rickety  vehicle ; 
the  old  man  was  carried  carefully  down,  packed 
in  as  well  as  the  case  allowed,  his  splinted  and 
bandaged  leg  tied  to  the  side  to  keep  it  steady,  his 
head  propped  up  with  his  overcoat  rolled  into  a 
bundle,  and  an  old  carriage  carpet  thrown  over 
him  and  tucked  in.  Then  another  "  refrashin' '; 
fluid  was  administered,  and  the  reins  being  put 
into  his  hands,  with  a  sharp  chirrup  to  old  Jerry, 
he  started  off  at  a  quick  trot,  and  before  John 
Barnes  could  get  into  his  wagon  and  follow,  Fyler 
was  round  the  corner,  out  of  sight,  speeded  by  the 
cheers  and  laughter  of  the  spectators,  and  eulogized 
by  the  landlord,  as  he  bit  off  the  end  of  a  fresh 
cigar,  as  "  the  darnedest  piece  of  Fyler  grit  or  any 
_43>jiher  grit  I  ever  see !  " 

In  the  mean  time  Phoebe  at  home  went  about 


GRIT.  13 

her  daily  work  in  a  kind  of  sullen  peace :  peaceful, 
because  her  father  was  out  of  the  way  for  one  day 
at  least ;  sullen,  because  she  foresaw  no  end  of  trou 
ble  coming  to  her,  but  never  for  one  moment  had 
an  idea  of  giving  up  Tom  Potter,  or  of  any  way  to 
achieve  her  freedom  except  by  enduring  obstinacy. 
Many  another  girl,  quick-witted  or  well  read  in 
novels,  would  have  enjoyed  the  situation  with  a 
certain  zest,  and  already  invented  plenty  of  strata 
gems  ;  but  Phoebe  had  not  been  educated  in  mod 
ern  style,  and  tact  or  cunning  was  not  native  to  her  ; 
she  could  endure  or  resist  to  the  death,  but  she 
could  not  elude  or  beguile,  and  her  father  knew  it. 
Her  mother  was  helpless  to  aid  her ;  but,  with  the 
courage  mothers  have,  she  set  herself  out  of  the 
question,  and  having  thought  deeply  all  the  morn 
ing,  over  the  knitting-work,  which  was  all  she  could 
do  now,  she  surprised  Phoebe  in  the  midst  of  her 
potato-paring  by  suddenly  saying :  — 

"•  Phoebe,  I  see  what  you  're  a-thinkin'  of,  and  I 
want  to  say  my  say  now,  afore  anybody  comes  in. 
I  've  heerd  enough  o'  Tom  Potter  to  know  he  's  a 
reel  likely  young  feller ;  he  's  stiddy,  'nd  he  's  a 
professor  besides,  'nd  he  's  got  a  good  trade  ;  there 
ain't  no  reason  on  airth  why  you  should  n't  keep 
company  with  him,  ef  you  like  him.  It 's  clear 
senseless  to  hev  your  life  spoiled  because  your  folks 
'nd  his  folks  querreled,  away  back,  about  a  water 
right." 

Phoebe  dropped  the  potatoes,  and  gave  her  mo 
ther  a  speechless  hug,  that  brought  the  tears  into 
those  pale  blue  eyes. 


14  GEIT. 

"Softly,  dear!  I  don't  mean  to  set  ye  ag'inst 
your  pa,  noways  ;  but  I  don't  think  man  nor  woman 
hes  a  right  to  say  their  gal  sha'n't  marry  a  man 
that  ain't  bad  nor  shiftless,  jest  'cause  they  don't 
fancy  him ;  'nd  I  don't  want  to  leave  ye  here  when 
I  go,  to  live  my  life  over  agin." 

"  Oh,  mother,"  exclaimed  Phcebe,  almost  drop 
ping  the  pan  again,  "  I  think  it  would  be  awful 
mean  of  me  to  leave  you  here  alone !  " 

"'T  would  n't  be  no  worse,  Phoebe.  I  should 
miss  ye,  no  doubt  on  't ;  I  should  miss  ye  consider'- 
ble,  but  then  I  shouldn't  worry  over  your  hard 
times  here  as  I  do,  some,  all  the  time." 

Poor  saint !  she  fought  her  battle  there  by  the 
fireside,  and  nobody  saw  it  but  the  "  cloud  of  wit 
nesses,"  who  had  hung  over  many  a  martyrdom 
before  that  was  not  illustrated  by  fire  or  sword. 

Phcebe  choked  a  little,  and  her  clear  eyes  sof 
tened  ;  she  was  only  a  girl,  and  she  did  not  fully 
understand  what  her  mother  had  suffered  and  re 
nounced  for  her,  but  she  loved  her  with  all  her 
warm  heart. 

"I  can't  help  ye  none,  Phoebe,"  Mrs.  Fyler 
went  on,  with  a  patient  smile,  "  but  I  can  comfort 
ye,  mebbe,  and,  as  fur  as  my  consent  goes,  you  hev 
it,  ef  you  want  to  marry  Tom  ;  but  oh !  Phoebe,  be 
sure,  sure  as  death,  you  do  want  to :  don't  marry 
him  to  get  away  from  home.  I  'd  ruther  see  ye 
drowned  in  Long  Pond." 

Phoebe's  cheek  colored  deeply  and  her  bright 
eyes  fell,  for  her  mother's  homely  words  were  sol 
emn  in  their  meaning  and  tone. 


GRIT.  15 

"  I  am  sure,  mother,"  she  said  softly,  and  went 
away  to  fetch  more  wood  for  the  fire ;  and  neither 
of  the  women  spoke  again  of  the  matter,  but 
Phoabe's  brow  cleared  of  its  trouble,  and  her 
mother  lay  back  in  her  chair  and  prayed  in  her 
heart.  Poor  woman !  she  had  mighty  need  of 
such  a  refuge. 

So  night  came  on,  and  after  long  delay  they  ate 
their  supper,  presuming  that  the  head  of  the  house 
was  delayed  by  business,  little  thinking  how  he, 
strapped  into  John  Barnes's  .wagon,  was  pursuing 
his  homeward  road  in  the  gathering  darkness  and 
solitude ;  for  though  John  caught  up  with  him 
soon,  after  a  mile  or  two  some  empty  sacks  fell 
out  of  the  Barnes  wagon,  and  no  sooner  did  John 
miss  them  than  he  coolly  turned  back  and  left  old 
Eeuben  to  find  his  way  alone.  But  the  old  man 
did  not  care  ;  he  had  courage  for  anything  ;  so  he 
drove  along  as  cheerily  as  ever,  though  his  dim 
sight  was  darkened  further  by  the  darkening  air, 
the  overhanging  trees,  and  the  limit  set  to  his 
vision  by  the  horse's  head,  which  from  his  position 
was  all  he  could  see  before  him. 

About  nine  o'clock  a  benighted  traveler  driving 
toward  Baxter  from  Pasco  way,  with  his  wife, 
discerned  dimly  an  approaching  horse  and  wagon, 
apparently  without  a  driver.  He  reined  his  own 
horse  and  covered  buggy  into  the  ditch,  to  give 
room,  but  the  road  was  narrow,  and  the  other 
horse  kept  in  the  middle. 

"  Turn    out !  turn   out !  "   shouted    the   anxious 


16  GEIT. 

man.     "Are  you  asleep  or  drunk?     Turn  out,  I 
tell  you !  " 

But  old  Fyler  heard  the  echo  only  of  the  strenu 
ous  voice,  and  turned  out  the  wrong  way,  setting 
his  own  wheels  right  into  the  wheels  of  the  stran 
ger's  buggy. 

"You  drunken  idiot !  back,  back,  I  say !  you  've 
run  right  into  me" — not  without  objurgations 
of  a  slightly  profane  character  to  emphasize  his 
remark.  "  Back,  I  say !  The  devil !  can't  you 
hear?" 

By  this  time  both  horses  were  excited ;  the 
horse  in  the  ditch  began  to  plunge,  the  other  one 
to  rear  and  back,  till,  what  between  the  pull  of  his 
master  on  the  reins  and  his  own  terror,  Jerry 
backed  his  load  down  the  steep  bank  at  the  road 
side,  and  but  for  a  tree  that  caught  the  wheel, 
horse,  driver,  and  wagon  would  have  gone  head 
long  into  a  situation  of  fatal  reverses,  where  even 
Fyler  grit  could  not  avail. 

"  Murder !  "  cried  the  old  man.  "  I  've  broke 
my  leg,  'nd  I  'm  pitchin'  over  th'  edge  !  Lordy 
massy  !  stop  the  cretur  !  Who  be  ye  ?  Ketch  his 
head,  can't  ye  ?  Thunderation !  I  'm  a-tippin'9 
sure  's  ye  live  !  " 

"  Let  your  horse  alone,  you  old  fool ! "  shouted 
the  exasperated  traveler,  who  was  trying  vainly 
to  tie  his  own  to  some  saplings  by  the  roadside, 
while  his  wife  scrambled  out  as  best  she  might 
over  the  floundering  wheels.  But  by  the  time  the 
man  succeeded,  Fyler' s  horse  had  been  so  demon- 


GRIT.  17 

strative  that  the  wagon  wheels  were  twisted  and 
locked  together,  the  wagon  body  tilted  up  to  a  dan 
gerous  degree,  and  the  old  man  rolled  down  to  the 
other  side  and  half  out,  where  he  hung  helpless, 
tied  by  the  knee,  sick  with  the  pain  of  his  wrenched 
leg,  and  unable  to  stir ;  but  still  he  yelled  for 
help. 

"Can  you  hold  this  plaguy  horse's  head, 
Anne  ?  "  said  the  traveler.  "  I  never  can  right 
the  wheels  while  he  plunges  and  rears  like  that." 

"  I  '11  try,"  was  the  quiet  response ;  and  being 
a  woman  of  courage  and  weight,  she  hung  on  to 
the  bridle,  though  Jerry  made  frantic  efforts  to 
lift  her  off  the  ground  and  stand  on  his  hind-legs, 
till  the  wagon  was  righted,  the  groaning  old  man 
replaced,  his  story  told,  and  he  ready  once  more 
to  shake  the  reins,  which  still  were  grasped  in  his 
hard  hands. 

"  But  you  ain't  going  on  alone  in  this  dark  ?  " 
asked  the  astonished  traveler. 

"  Yes,  I  be,  yes,  I  be  —  sartain.  I  shall  git  on 
well  enough  ef  I  don't  meet  nobody,  'nd  I  guess  I 
shaVt." 

"  But  you  met  us." 

"  Well,  it 's  a-growin'  later  'nd  later  ;  there 
won't  be  many  folks  out  to-night ;  they  ginerly 
knows  enough  to  stay  to  hum  arter  dark  out  our 
way."  With  which  Parthian  remark  he  chirruped 
to  Jerry  and  trotted  away,  without  a  word  of 
thanks  or  acknowledgment,  aching  and  groaning, 
and  muttering  to  himself,  "  Darned  fool !  what  'd 


18  GEIT. 

he  want  to  be  a-kitin'  round  in  a  narrer  road  this 
time  o'  night  ?  Fixed  me  out,  I  guess  ;  but  I  '11 
get  hum,  anyhow.  Git  up,  Jerry  !  " 

And  Jerry  got  up  to  such  a  purpose  that  about 
twelve  o'clock  that  night  a  loud  shouting  at  the 
front  door  roused  Phoebe  and  her  mother,  and  they 
were  forced  to  call  in  a  couple  of  men  from  the 
next  neighbor's,  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away, 
to  get  the  old  man  into  the  house,  undressed,  and 
put  to  bed. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  fever  set  in  ;  but 
he  fought  that  with  "  Fyler  grit."  And  though 
fever  is  a  force  of  itself,  there  is  a  certain  willful 
vitality  and  strength  of  will  in  some  people  that 
exert  wonderful  influence  over  physical  maladies  ; 
and  after  a  few  days  of  pain  and  discomfort  and 
anger  with  himself  and  everybody  else,  the  old 
man  grew  more  comfortable,  and  proceeded  to  rule 
his  family  as  usual.  By  dint  of  questioning  the 
daily  visitors  who  always  flock  about  the  victim  of 
an  accident  in  a  country  village,  he  had  kept  him 
self  posted  as  to  Tom  Potter's  absence;  but  its 
limit  was  drawing  to  an  end  now,  and  he  took 
alarm.  He  had  not  imagined  that  Tom  might  be 
as  well  informed  on  his  part,  and  that  more  than 
one  note  had  passed  through  the  post-office  al 
ready  between  the  young  couple.  Nor  did  he 
know  that  the  postmistress  was  a  warm  friend  of 
Tom's  ;  for  he  had  rescued  her  only  child  from  the 
threatening  horns  of  his  father's  Ayrshire  bull, 
when  little  Fanny  had  ventured  to  cross  the  pas* 


GEIT.  19 

ture  lot  after  strawberries,  and  her  red  shawl  at 
tracted  that  ill-conditioned  quadruped's  notice  and 
aroused  his  wrath.  Tom's  correspondence  was 
safe  and  secret  in  passing  through  aunty  Leland's 
hands.  But  as  soon  as  Reuben  Fyler  ceased  to 
need  doses  from  the  drug  store  and  ice  from  the 
tavern,  Phoebe  was  kept  within  range  of  his  eye 
and  ear.  Still,  she  knew  Tom  was  at  home  now, 
and  evening  after  evening  his  cheery  whistle 
passed  through  the  window  as  he  sauntered  by,  — • 
a  signal  to  Phoebe  to  get  outside  if  she  could  ;  but 
she  never  could. 

However,  "  Potter  faculty "  was  at  work  foi 
her.  When  the  county  paper  was  sent  over  from 
the  post-office  by  a  small  boy,  he  had  directions 
from  aunty  Leland  to  give  it  at  once  into  Phoebe's 
hand,  "  and  nobody  else's."  So  he  waited  about 
till  Phoebe  opened  the  kitchen  door  to  sweep  out 
the  dust,  and  gave  it  to  her  with  a  significant  wink 
—  not  that  he  knew  what  his  wink  signified  at  all, 
but,  with  the  true  gamin  instinct,  he  gathered  an 
idea  from  the  widow  Leland's  special  instructions 
that  "  somethin'  wuz  to  pay,"  as  he  expressed  it  to 

himself. 

t 

And  Phoebe,  as  she  hastened  in  from  the  door 
to  carry  the  paper  to  her  father's  bedside,  per 
ceived  on  the  margin,  in  a  well-known  handwriting, 
these  words,  "  Look  out  for  lambs."  As  she  hung 
up  her  broom,  she  tore  off  the  inscription  and 
tossed  it  into  the  fire  ;  and  then,  while  she  pa 
tiently  went  through  the  gossip,  politics,  religion, 


20  GRIT. 

and  weekly  story  of  the  "  Slabtown  News,"  ex 
ercised  herself  mightily  as  to  what  that  mystic 
sentence  might  mean ;  but  not  till  the  soft  and 

'•  fragrant  darkness  of  the  June  evening  set  in  did 

I  she  find  a  clew  to  the  mystery. 

'  Old  Fyler  had  a  few  pure-blood  merino  sheep 
on  his  farm  that  were  the  very  apple  of  his  eye. 
Not  that  he  had  ever  bought  such  expensive  com 
modities  ;  but  a  wealthy  farmer  in  the  next  town 
owned  a  small  flock  some  years  before,  which  the 
New  England  nuisance  of  dogs  at  last  succeeded  in 
slaying  or  scattering.  In  some  panic  of  the  sort, 
one  had  escaped  to  the  woods,  and,  after  long 
straying,  been  found  by  Fyler,  with  a  new-born 
pair  of  lambs  beside  her,  in  a  wood  on  the  limit  of 
Pasco  township,  where  he  was  cutting  his  winter 
supply.  Of  course  this  windfall  was  too  valuable 
to  be  neglected.  The  hay  brought  for  Jerry's  din 
ner  was  made  into  a  soft  bed,  and,  with  the  help 
of  an  Irishman,  who  was  chopping  also,  the  sheep 
and  her  family  lifted  into  the  wagon  and  taken 
home.  Pasco  was  not  infested  with  dogs ;  only 
two  or  three  could  be  numbered  in  the  village. 
And  after  the  old  sheep  was  wonted  to  her  quar 
ters  a  little,  fed  by  hand,  cosseted,  and  made  at 
home,  she  was  turned  into  a  lot  with  the  cows. 
And  woe  betide  any  dog  that  intruded  among  the 
beautiful  Ayrshires !  So  the  sheep  increased  year 
after  year,  carefully  sheltered  in  cold  weather,  as 

,   became    their    high   breeding,   till   now    between 

•    thirty  and  forty  ranged  the  sweet  short  pastures  of 


GEIT.  .    21 

the  Fyler  farm,  and  their  fleeces  were  the  wondet 
and  admiration  of  all  the  town. 

Late  that  night  —  late,  I  mean,  for  Pasco,  for 
the  old-fashioned  nine-o'clock  bell  had  but  just 
rung,  though  Mrs.  Fyler  had  gone  to  bed  upstairs 
an  hour  ago,  and  Phoebe  was  just  spreading  an  ex 
tempore  bed  on  the  lounge  in  the  kitchen,  to  be 
where  her  father  might  call  her  in  case  of  need  — 
a  piteous  bleat,  unmistakably  the  bleat  of  a  lamb 
in  some  kind  of  distress,  was  heard  outside.  The 
old  man  started  up  from  his  pillow. 

"  What  'n  thunder 's  that,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  Sounds  some  like  a  lamb." 

"  Sounds  like  a  lamb  !  Anybody  'd  think  you 
was  a  durn  fool.  'Tis  a  lamb,  I  tell  ye.  One  o' 
them  leetle  creturs  hez  strayed  away  out  o'  the 
paddock.  I  'xpect  boys  hez  ben  in  there  a-foolin' 
round  'cause  I  'm  laid  up  abed.  Lordy !  I  wish  to 
the  land  I  could  smash  that  'ere  ingine.  Go  'long 
out,  gal,  'nd  see  to  't.  It  '11  stray  a  mile  mebbe 
ef  ye  don't.  You  've  got  ter  look  out  for  lambs. 
They  don't  know  nothin'." 

Phoebe  started  as  her  father  repeated  the  very 
phrase  penciled  on  the  edge  of  the  paper;  the 
lamb  kept  bleating,  and  the  dimple  in  the  girl's 
rosy  cheek  deepened  while  she  found  her  bonnet, 
and,  turning  the  key  of  the  kitchen  door,  stepped 
out  into  the  starlit  night.  That  lamb  was  evi 
dently  behind  the  woodshed,  but  so  was  somebody 
else ;  for  Phoebe  had  hardly  discerned  its  curly 
back  in  the  shadow  before  she  was  grasped  in  a 


22   -  GEIT. 

stringent  embrace,  and  Tom  Potter  actually  kissed 
her. 

"  Go  'long !  "  she  whispered  indignantly.  But 
Tom  did  not  seem  to  mind  her,  and  probably  she 
became  resigned  to  the  infliction,  for  at  least  ten 
minutes  elapsed  before  that  go-between  of  a  lamb 
was  restored  to  its  anxious  mother  in  the  paddock, 
and  full  half  the  time  was  wasted  in  a  whispered 
dialogue  —  with  punctuation  marks. 

Very  rosy  indeed  Miss  Phoebe  looked  as  she 
returned  to  the  house. 

"Seems  to  me  ye  was  everlastin'  long  'bout 
ketchin'  that  lamb,"  growled  old  Reuben. 

"  Well,  I  had  to  put  it  back,  'nd  fix  up  the  lit 
tle  gate.  One  hinge  was  off  on  't,  'nd  't  was  kinder 
canted  round,  so 's  't  the  lamb  got  out,  'nd  was  too 
simple  to  get  back." 

Oh,  Phoebe !  Well  it  was  that  no  oath  com 
pelled  the  speaking  of  the  whole  truth  —  of  who 
unhinged  the  gate,  or  who  had  the  lamb  safe  by 
a  long  string,  having  previously  captured  it  in  the 
paddock  for  purposes  of  decoy,  or  how,  indeed,  a 
letter  came  to  be  in  that  calico  pocket,  making 
an  alarming  crackle  whenever  she  moved,  terri 
bly  loud  to  her,  but  silent  to  the  sleepy  old  man  in 
his  bed. 

Phoebe  went  about  very  thoughtful  the  next  day. 
The  letter  contained  an  astounding  proposition. 
It  was  an  artful  letter,  too,  for  it  began  with  a  re 
cital  of  all  the  difficulties  that  made  the  way  of 
true  love  proverbially  rugged,  and  convinced  her 


GEIT.  23 

of  what  she  had  unconsciously  admitted  before, 
that  she  could  never  marry  her  lever  in  the  world 
with  her  father's  consent  and  the  pleasant  obser 
vances  of  ordinary  life.  Then  it  went  on  to  plead 
in  tender  and  manly  fashion  the  writer's  own  affec 
tion  ;  his  ability  to  give  her  a  pleasant  and  happy 
home,  for  he  had  just  bought  out  the  Pasco  black 
smith  shop,  the  owner  thereof  having  moved  to 
Hartford,  where  Tom  had  spent  that  week  settling 
up  the  matter,  and  the  smithy  was  a  good  busi 
ness,  being  the  only  one  in  a  wide  radius.  And 
it  wound  up  with  a  proposal  that  as  soon  as  her 
father  got  so  much  better  that  her  mother  could 
care  for  him  alone,  Phoebe  should  slip  out  some 
fine  night  on  to  the  roof,  thence  to  the  top  of  the 
henhouse,  and  so  to  the  ground,  and  meet  Tom 
and  his  sister,  who  would  be  with  him,  at  Peter 
Green's  wood,  half  a  mile  away,  and  just  at  the 
edge  of  the  Fyler  farm.  Phoebe  was  to  consider 
the  matter  fully,  and  talk  it  over  with  her  mother, 
and  when  she  made  up  her  mind,  to  put  a  letter  in 
the  corner  of  the  cow-shed,  where  she  milked  daily, 
under  a  stone,  where  she  would  also  find  an  an 
swer,  and  probably  other  epistles  thereafter. 

Phoebe  was  not  a  girl  to  take  such  a  proposal 
lightly.  She  did,  indeed,  consider  it  long  and  in 
earnest.  Day  by  day,  as  her  father  grew  better, 
with  a  rapidity  astonishing  in  so  old  a  man,  —  for 
Reuben  Fyler 's  adventures  are  literally  true,  —  he 
became  more  and  more  ill-tempered  and  exasper 
ating.  The  pain  of  the  knitting  bones,  the  bed- 


24  GRIT. 

weariness,  the  constant  fret  over  farm-work  that 
was  either  neglected  or  hired  out,  worked  on  his 
naturally  growling  temper,  and  made  life  unpleas 
ant  to  all  around  him  as  well  as  himself.  Phoebe's 
mind  was  made  up  more  by  her  father  than  even 
her  own  affection  for  Tom,  or  her  mother's  gentle 
encouragement.  The  old  man  vented  his  temper 
on  Phcebe  in  the  matter  of  Tom  Potter  more  and 
more  frequently ;  he  reviled  the  Potter  tribe,  root 
and  branch,  in  a  radical  and  persistent  way  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  an  ancient  Israelite 
cursing  Canaan  ;  he  even  taunted  Phoabe  with  fa 
voring  such  a  chicken-hearted  lover,  scared  with 
one  slam  of  a  door  in  his  face ;  and  Phcebe's  inher 
ited  "  grit  "  was  taxed  strongly  to  keep  her  tongue 
quiet  lest  she  should  betray  her  own  secret ;  yet 
angry  as  she  was,  there  was  a  glint  of  fun  under 
lying  her  anger,  to  think  how  thoroughly  Tom  had 
countermined  her  father,  which  set  the  deep,  lovely 
dimples  in  cheek  and  chin  alight,  and  sparkled  in 
each  steady  eye,  almost  belying  the  angry  brow 
and  set  lips. 

So  it  came  about  that  she  yielded  to  the  inner 
pressure  and  the  outer  persuasion.  Her  father 
was  able  now  to  get  about  a  little  on  crutches,  and 
sit  at  the  window  overlooking  the  cow-shed  ;  yet  it 
was  there,  right  under  his  suspicious  eyes,  that 
Phoabe  took  the  time,  while  she  was  milking  and 
her  mother  feeding  a  new-weaned  calf,  to  unfold 
her  plans. 

"Mother,"  she   began,  with  eyes   fixed  on  hei 


GRIT.  25 

pail,  "  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer  ;  my  mind  's 
made  up.  I  'm  going  to  Torn,  if  you  keep  in  the 
same  mind  you  was." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  I  think  it  is  the  best  for  both  of 
us.  But  don't  tell  rne  any  more  about  it  than  you 
can  help.  Tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  do  for 
you,  but  "  — 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Phcebe.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  do  anything,  mother ;  only  you  '11 
know  if  yon  miss  me." 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  want  to  tell  you,  Phcebe.  Several 
years  back  I  've  kinder  taken  comfort  a-fixin'  for 
this  time.  I  've  hed  a  chance  now  'nd  then  to  sew 
a  little,  'nd  I've  made  ye  a^set  o'  things  when 
you  was  off  to  school  odc^  times,  'nd  washed 
'em  up'  nd  put  'em  up  chamber  for  ye  in  the  old 
press  drawers.  Then  I  've  laid  up  some  little  too, 
out  of  a  dozen  of  eggs  here,  'nd  a  little  milk  there, 
'nd  twenty  gold  dollars  grandmother  give  me  be 
fore  she  died.  I  guess  there 's  nigh  about  fifty 
by  this  time  ;  and  the  black  silk  dress  aunt  Sary 
sent  me  from  York,  arter  her  Sam  spent  that 
year  here,  never  's  ben  cut.  You  better  take  that 
to  Taunton  to-morrer  to  be  made." 

"  Oh,  mother  !  " 

"  Well,  dear,  you  're  all  I  Ve  got.  Why  should  n't 
I?  Oh,  that  pesky  calf  !  "  and  just  in  time  to  di 
vert  sentiment  into  a  safer  channel,  the  calf  threw 
up  its  head,  knocked  the  good  woman  backward 
into  the  dirt,  and  with  tail  high  in  air,  and  its  four 
feet  apparently  going  four  ways  at  once,  began  one 


26  GRIT. 

of  those  wild  canters  about  the  yard  which  calves 
indulge  in.  Phoebe  had  to  laugh,  as  her  mother, 
indignant  but  unhurt,  rose  up  from  the  ground,  and 
old  Fyler  at  the  kitchen  window  grinned  with 
amusement.  So  Phoebe  transported  her  modest 
fitting-out  little  by  little  to  Julia  Potter,  who  was 
her  only  confidante  in  the  matter,  and  could  not 
even  see  Phoebe,  but  punctually  went  for  the  bun 
dles,  when  Tom  was  notified  that  they  would  be 
left  in  the  further  barn,  which  opened  on  another 
road,  for  better  convenience  in  haying.  The  black 
silk  dress  also  was  consigned  to  her  care,  with 
Phoebe's  new  bonnet,  sent  by  express  from  Taun- 
ton  along  with  the  dress. 

The  day  set  for  Phoebe's  departure  was  the  3d 
of  July,  since  the  racket  and  wakefulness  which 
pervade  even  country  towns  on  this  anniversary 
would  make  Tom's  late  drive  less  noticeable.  In  the 
afternoon  of  the  sultry  day  ominous  flashes  of  tem 
pest  began  to  play  about  the  far  horizon,  whence 
all  day  long  great  "  thunder-caps "  had  rolled 
their  still  and  solemn  heights  of  rounded  pearl  and 
shadow  upward  through  the  stainless  blue  of  hea 
ven.  Phoebe  gave  her  mother  a  stringent  hug  and 
1  kiss  on  the  stairs  as  she  went  up,  little  knowing  how 
that  mother's  heart  sank  in  her  breast,  or  how  dim 
were  the  sad  eyes  that  dared  not  let  a  tear  fall  to 
relieve  them.  By  nine  o'clock  the  house  was  still, 
except  for  low  mutterings  of  the  storm  and  distant 
wheels  hurrying  through  the  night,  which  made 
Phoebe's  heart  beat  wildly.  She  made  a  small 


GEIT.  27 

bundle  of  needful  things,  wrapped  it  in  a  little 
shawl,  put  on  her  hat,  and,  taking-  her  shoes  in  her 
hand,  slipped  softly  out  of  the  window  to  the  shed 
roof,  and  thence  to  the  ground.  She  felt  like  a 
guilty  thing  enough  as  she  stole  over  the  hencoop 
and  roused  the  fluttering  fowls,  bringing  out  an 
untimely  crow  from  one  young  rooster.  But  the 
thought  of  Tom  and  her  father  nerved  her  to  ac 
tion.  Putting  on  her  shoes  hastily,  she  took  a  bee- 
line  for  Green's  wood,  where,  at  the  corner  of  a 
certain  fence,  she  was  to  find  Tom  and  Julia.  The 
storm  was  coming  up  now  rapidly,  but  Phoebe  did 
not  feel  any  fear;  the  frequent  flashes  blinded 
her,  but  the  road  was  plain  after  she  had  passed 
through  the  home  lots  and  found  the  highway ; 
and  she  met  no  one,  as  she  had  feared,  for  even 
those  irrepressible  patriots,  the  boys,  had  sought 
shelter  from  probable  rain  that  would  spoil  their 
powder  and  wet  their  fire-crackers.  But  when 
Phoebe  arrived  at  the  rendezvous,  her  heart  beat 
thick  with  trouble  or  fear,  for  no  one  was  there. 
She  knew  Tom  had  got  her  letter  ;  he  had  left  a 
rapturous  answer  in  its  place,  but  what  had  kept 
him  ? 

She  sat  down  among  the  sweet-fern  bushes  and 
/  tufts  of  long  grass  to  quiet  herself  and  think,  and 
being  a  cool-headed,  reasonable  girl,  composed  her 
self  to  the  idea  that  something  had  delayed  her 
lover,  and  she  must  have  patience ;  but  as  the 
minutes  went  on  long  and  slow  enough,  the  thun 
der  pealing  loud  and  louder,  the  lightning  darting 


28  GEIT. 

swift  lances  from  heaven  to  earth,  and  a  sharp 
rush  of  rain  rattling  on  the  stiff  oak  leaves  above 
her,  Phoebe  determined  to  go  home  ;  not  without  a 
certain  indignation  in  her  heart  at  the  carelessness 
of  the  man  who  ought  to  have  been  not  only  ready, 
but  waiting  to  receive  her,  but  also  a  reserve  of 
judgment,  for  she  had  a  great  trust  in  Tom. 
Drenched  to  the  skin,  and  chilled  by  the  cold  wind 
that  rose  with  the  storm,  she  retraced  her  steps, 
and  dragging  a  short  ladder  from  the  cow-shed, 
contrived  to  get  back  on  the  roof,  wet  and  slippery 
as  it  was  ;  but  to  her  dismay  and  wonder  the  win 
dow  of  her  room  was  not  only  shut,  but  tightly  fas 
tened,  and  the  paper  shade  let  down  before  it. 
Her  father,  waking  with  the  noise  of  the  heavy 
thunder,  bethought  himself  of  the  lambs  in  the 
paddock,  not  being  certain  that  Phoebe  had  re 
membered  to  fold  them.  He  got  up  and  hobbled 
to  the  stairs,  calling  her  loudly,  but  with  no  reply. 
In  vain  his  wife  urged  him  to  lie  down  while  she 
called  Phoebe ;  he  wanted  to  scold  her  awake,  and 
with  pains  and  groans  he  drew  himself  up  the 
stairs,  only  to  find  her  bed  untouched  and  her  win 
dow  open.  At  once  the  state  of  things  flashed 
upon  him  ;  he  did  not  swear,  but  setting  his  lips  at 
their  utmost  vicious  angle,  shut  and  fastened  the 
window,  and  let  down  the  shade,  fancying  Phoebe 
had  gone  out  to  meet  her  lover,  and  would  try  to 
return. 

"  I  've  fixed  the  jade,"  was  his  first  utterance,  as 
he  reentered    his   own    room.     "  She's   gone    'nd 


GEIT.  29 

slipped  out  o'  the  winder  for  to  meet  that  darned 
Potter  feller.  See  ef  she  '11  git  in  agin.  A  good 
wettin'  down  '11  sarve  her  right." 

"  Oh,  Reuben  !  "  remonstrated  his  wife. 

"  You  shet  up.  She  's  got  to  ketch  it,  I  tell  ye," 
he  growled  back;  and  his  wife,  consoled  by  the 
belief  that  her  darling  was  by  that  time  in  kindly 
hands,  lay  down  again  and  slept,  to  be  roused  an 
hour  after  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  back  door. 

"  What  ye  want  ?  "  demanded  the  old  man,  who 
had  not  slept,  but  waited  for  this  result. 

"  It 's  me,  father,"  said  Phoebe's  resolute  voice. 
"  Let  me  in  ;  I  'm  out  in  the  rain." 

Mrs.  Fyler  sprang  from  her  bed,  but  Reuben 
caught  her  arm  and  pulled  her  back. 

"  You  lie  still,  I  tell  ye,"  he  growled  ;  and  then 
went  on,  in  a  louder  key,  "  Folks  don't  come  into 
my  door  by  night  onless  they  've  gone  out  on 't." 

"  Let  me  in,  father  ;  it 's  me,  —  Phoebe.  I  'm 
wet  through." 

The  poor  mother  made  one  more  effort  to  rise, 
but  was  held  with  vise-like  grasp,  as  her  lord  and 
master  retorted,  — 

"No  wet  folks  wanted  here.  You  could  ha' 
staid  in  ef  you  'd  ha'  wanted  to  keep  dry." 

Phcebe's  spirit  rose  at  the  taunt.  Had  she  been 
let  in,  even  to  receive  the  expected  indignation  and 
scolding,  there  would  have  been  no  second  exploit 
of  the  kind,  for  she  was  thoroughly  disgusted  with 
herself  and  partially  with  her  lover ;  but  when 
steel  strikes  steel,  it  is  only  to  elicit  sparks.  Her 


30  GEIT. 

"  Fyler  grit  "  took  possession  of  her.  Picking  up 
her  soaked  bundle,  she  set  out  for  the  Potter  farm, 
which  lay  two  long  miles  away,  on  a  hillside,  and 
was  approached  by  a  wood  road  as  well  as  the 
highway.  But  the  wood  road  was  the  shortest  and 
most  lonely.  She  was  sure  to  meet  no  one  in  that 
grassy  track.  So  she  struck  into  it  at  once. 

A  weary  walk  it  proved.  The  storm  went  on 
with  unabated  fury.  Rain  poured  fiercely  down. 
Her  rough  way  was  full  of  stones,  of  fallen  boughs, 
and  crossed  by  new-made  brooks  from  the  moun 
tain  springs,  suddenly  filled  and  overflowing.  But, 
with  stubborn  courage,  Phoebe  kept  on,  though 
more  than  once  she  fell  at  length  among  the  drip 
ping  weeds  and  grasses,  and  was  sorely  bruised  by 
stones  and  jarred  by  the  fall. 

But  it  was  a  resolved  and  rosy  face  that  pre 
sented  itself  when  the  kitchen  door  of  the  farm 
house  on  Potter  Hill  opened  to  a  firm,  sharp 
knock.  There  were  friendly  lights  in  the  win 
dows,  and  Mrs.  Potter's  kind  old  countenance 
beamed  with  pity  and  surprise  as  she  beheld  Phoebe 
on  the  doorstep. 

"  Mercy's  sakes  alive,  Phoebe !  You  be  half 
drowned,  child.  Come  in,  come  in,  quick ! 
Where  's  Tom  and  July  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Phoebe,  with  a  little  laugh,  "  that 's 
just  what  I  'd  like  to  know." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  they  hain't  fetched  ye  ? 
Why,  how  under  the  canopy  did  ye  get  here  ?  " 

So  Phoebe  told   her  tale  of  woe,  while  her  wet 


GRIT.  31 

clothes  were  taken  off  by  the  old  lady  (who  was 
watching  for  the  party,  and  had  sent  the  "  help  " 
and  the  younger  part  of  the  family  to  bed  hours 
ago),  and  was  told,  in  her  turn,  how  Tom  anc1  his 
sister  had  set  off  at  half  past  eight,  and  how  they 
had  been  expected  back  "  ever  'nd  ever  so  long," 
so  that  Phoebe  was  supposed  to  have  come  with 
them  when  she  appeared. 

"  I  '11  bet  a  cent  that  colt 's  run  away.  Tom 
would  take  the  colt.  He  thought  the  old  hoss  was 
kinder  feeble  'nd  slow-goin'.  But  I'd  ruther  ha' 
took  him  —  slow  'nd  sure,  ye  know." 

Here  was  food  for  anxiety ;  but  it  did  not  last 
long,  for  wheels  rattled  up  from  the  highway  side 
of  the  house,  an  angry  "  Whoa,  whoa,  I  tell  ye  !  " 
was  heard  outside,  and  in  a  moment  Tom  strode 
in,  half  carrying  his  sister,  wet  with  rain  and  cry 
ing. 

"  Take  care  o'  Jule,  mother ;  she  's  about  dead. 
There  ain't  a  cent's  worth  o'  grit  in  her." 

A  low  laugh  stopped  him  very  suddenly.  He 
looked  round,  and  there,  by  the  little  blaze  in  the 
chimney,  which  had  been  lit  to  warm  her  a  cup  of 
tea,  sat  Phoebe,  rosy,  smiling,  and  prettier  than 
ever,  in  Julia's  pink  calico  gown  and  a  soft  white 
shawl  of  his  mother's. 

"  Tom  !  Tom  !  you  '11  get  her  all  damp  again  !  " 
screamed  Mrs.  Potter  ;  from  which  it  may  be  in 
ferred  what  Tom  was  about. 

However,  Phoebe  seemed  to  be  used  to  damp 
ness.  Perhaps  the  night's  experience  had  hard- 


32  GRIT. 

ened  her,  for  she  made  no  effort  to  withdraw  from 
this  present  second-hand  shower,  while  Tom  ex 
plained  how  the  colt  had  been  frightened,  just  as 
they  drove  by  the  post-office,  at  a  giant  cracker, 
and  dashed  off  down  the  meadow  road  at  full  speed. 
This  would  not  have  mattered  if  a  sudden  jolt  had 
not  broken  one  side  of  the  thills  short  off,  where 
upon  the  colt  kicked  and  plunged  till  he  broke  the 
other,  and  with  a  sudden  dash  pulled  Tom  all  but 
out  of  the  wagon,  tore  the  reins  out  of  his  hands, 
and  set  off  at  full  speed,  leaving  them  three  miles 
from  Green's  wood,  two  from  any  house,  with  a 
broken  wagon,  no  horse,  and  an  approaching  tem 
pest.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  walk  back 
to  the  village,  hire  another  "  team,"  and  through 
the  pouring  storm  drive  to  Green's  wood  on  the 
chance  of  seeing  Phoebe. 

Naturally  they  did  not  see  her ;  and  then  Tom 
in  despair  drove  round  to  Keuben  Fyler's  house, 
whistled  under  Phoebe's  window,  rattled  pebbles 
against  the  pane,  and  at  last  knocked  at  the  door, 
but  with  no  sign  or  answer  to  reward  him.  Then 
Julia  insisted  on  being  taken  home,  and  Tom  was 
forced  to  yield,  since  he  was  at  his  wits'  end,  and 
there  he  found  Phoebe. 

"  Tom,  be  still !  "  was  the  irrelevant  remark  ut 
tered  by  Phoebe  a,t  the  end  of  the  recital,  and  she 
blushed  more  rosily  than  ever  as  she  said  it. 

But  Mrs.  Potter,  with  motherly  sense,  served 
the  hot  supper  that  had  been  covered  up  in  the 
chimney-corner  so  long,  and  when  it  had  been 


GRIT.  33 

done  justice  to  in  the  most  unsentimental  manner, 
sent  the  whole  party  peremptorily  to  their  rooms. ' 

In  the  morning  the  runaway  colt  was  brought 
home  bright  and  early,  and  Tom  put  him  into  the 
borrowed  wagon  and  drove  off  with  Phoebe,  Julia, 
and  his  mother  to  the  minister's  house,  where  Par- 
son  Russell  gave  him  undeniable  rights  to  run  away 
with  Phoebe  hereafter  as  much  as  he  liked. 

The  news  came  quickly  to  her  father's  ears,  and, 
strange  to  say,  the  old  man  chuckled.  Perhaps 
his  comments  will  explain.  *'  Stumped  it  all  the 
way  up  there  in  the  dark,  did  she  ?  thunderin'  an' 
lightnin'  too.  Well,  now,  I  tell  ye,  there  ain't 
another  gal  in  Pasco  darst  to  ha'  done  it.  She  's 
clear  Fyler.  Our  folks  ain't  made  o'  all  dust ; 
they  're  three  quarter  grit,  you  kin  swear  to 't. 
The  darned  little  cretur !  she  beats  all.  Well ! 
well!  well!  Wife,  hain't  you  heerd  what  aunt 
Nabby 'sa-sayin?" 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  Law,  Mr.  Fyler,"  put  in  aunt  Nabby,  "  I 
thought  ye  'd  be  madder  'n  a  yaller  hornet." 

"  So  ye  come  to  hear  me  buzz,  did  ye  ?  'T  ain't 
safe  to  reckon  on  folks.  Mis'  Fyler,  you  fetch 
your  bunnet ;  I  '11  tell  Sam  to  harness  up,  'nd  you 
drive  up  to  Potter's  'nd  see  the  gal.  She  's  a  chip 
o'  the  old  block.  I  guess  I  '11  let  her  hev  that  'ere 
brown  'nd  white  heifer  for  a  settin'  up.  'T  ain't 
best,  nuther,  to  fight  with  the  blacksmith,  when 
there  ain't  but  one  handy." 

"  Well,  now,  I  am  beat,"  muttered  aunt  Nabby. 


34  GRIT. 

" 1  thought  ye  'd  ha'  held  out  ugly  to  the  day  o' 
judgment,  I  've  heern  tell  so  much  about  Fyler 
grit." 

"  I  think  it 's  likely,"  was  the  composed  reply. 
"  It 's  bad  ye  're  disapp'inted,  ain't  it  ?  but  did  n't 
it  never  come  to  ye  that  it  takes  more  grit  to  back 
down  hill  than  to  go  'long  up  it  ?  " 

"  Mebbe  it  doos  —  mebbe  it  doos,"  said  aunt 
Nabby,  shaking  her  head  with  the  wisdom  of  an 
owL 


MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

"  The  lobster  loves  the  lobster  pot, 
The  mackerel  loves  the  sea, 
And  I,  I  love  but  thee,  Mary  Ann  ; 
Mary  Ann,  Mary  Ann ;  Mary  Ann, 
Mary  Ann  ;  Mary  Ann,  I  love  but  thee !  " 

JAKE  HAZARD  shouted  out  this  snatch  of  sea 
song  at  the  top  of  his  pleasant  voice,  as  he  pushed 
his  old  whaleboat  off  the  beach  on  the  reluctant 
rollers,  and  at  last  launched  her  in  the  water. 

"  That 's  tellin',  ain't  it?  "  inquired  Hosy  Long, 
with  a  comic  cast  of  his  eye  across  the  boat  at 
Jake,  as  he  shoved  at  her  other  side  with  brawny 
shoulders  and  deep  breaths  of  effort. 

"  Haw,  haw!  "  roared  Jake.  "  Ain't  you  smart, 
Hosy  ?  I  'xpect  you  can  see  through  a  millstone  's 
quick  's  the  next  man  !  " 

Hosy  grinned  horribly  ;  he  was  not  a  brilliant 
creature,  but  he  could  catch  fish  better  than  any 
man  on  the  shore,  and  when  you  go  bluefishing 
that 's  the  sort  of  companion  you  want. 

Now  everybody  in  Sandy  Creek  knew  Jake 
Hazard  was  mortally  in  love  with  Mary  Ann 
Tucker  ;  he  had  made  no  secret  of  it,  and  she,  be 
ing  a  born  coquette,  treated  Jake  in  cat-and-mouse 
fashion,  till  he  was  as  nearly  crazy  as  a  hard- 


36  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

headed  young  fellow  with  no  nerves  and  a  mighty 
digestion  can  possibly  be.  If  I  said  Mary  Ann 
was  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  town  I  should  do  her 
great  injustice  ;  for  she  was  the  only  pretty  girl 
there ;  the  two  or  three  tanned,  freckled,  good- 
natured  daughters  of  the  Hazards,  and  Tuckers, 
and  Conklins,  who  were  "  the  girls "  of  Sandy 
Creek,  never  pretended  to  be  pretty  ;  they  went 
their  way  in  peace,  dug  clams,  baked  short 
cakes,  made  chowder,  and  darned  stockings,  un 
disturbed  by  lovers  or  rivalry ;  in  due  time  some 
body  married  them,  because  everybody  could  n't 
marry  Mary  Ann,  and  thereafter  they  lived  their 
lives  out  as  they  might ;  but  at  Mary  Ann's  feet, 
sooner  or  later,  every  young  man  in  the  town  bowed 
down  and  fell. 

She  was  a  very  pretty  girl.  Her  long  thick 
hair,  of  the  darkest,  richest  red,  waved  in  great 
loose  ripples  to  her  knees  when  it  fell  out  of  the 
heavy  braid  in  which  she  wore  it.  Her  skin  was 
fair  beyond  all  tanning,  and  if  it  was  a  little  frec 
kled  nobody  saw  it  in  the  abundant  and  lovely 
color  of  her  rounded  cheeks.  A  low,  wide  fore 
head,  a  dimpled  chin,  a  saucy  nose,  full  scarlet 
lips,  and  a  pair  of  wicked,  laughing,  dark  eyes, 
with  lashes  and  brows  of  deep  brown-red,  make  up 
a  fair  catalogue  of  charms. 

And  then  she  was  "  everlastin'  smart."  Nobody 
kept  so  clean  a  house  as  she  did  for  her  father, 
nobody  made  such  sea-pie,  chowder,  or  clam  frit 
ters.  She  fried  fish  to  such  crisp  perfection  that 


MARY  ANN'S  MIND.  37 

the  lighthouse  people  always  wanted  to  stop  at 
Sam  Tucker's  when  they  had  city  company  and 
took  them  out  fishing,  but  Miss  Mary  Ann  did 
not  approve  of  u  keepin'  tavern,5'  she  said,  so  the 
light -keeper  had  to  fry  his  own  fish.  Then  she 
was  exquisitely  neat,  —  a  virtue  rare  among  a  fish 
ing  people  familiar  with  the  unsavory  produce  of 
their  nets,  as  heads,  tails,  or  shells  lie  about  the 
doors,  odorous  if  not  ornamental,  till  the  very  hens' 
eggs  have  a  fishy  flavor.  But  Sam  Tucker's  door 
step  was  always  swept  of  every  grain  of  sand  or 
bit  of  refuse.  Two  little  posy  beds  boarded  up 
against  the  wall  sweetened  the  air  with  pinks, 
sweet  basil,  and  a  few  hardy  roses  in  their  season ; 
there  was  a  scrupulously  white  bit  of  a  curtain 
across  every  little  window,  and  the  well-scrubbed 
floors  had  bright  rugs  here  and  there  where  foot 
of  man  might  rest,  and  save  the  planks  needless 
stain  or  spot.  If  the  curtains  were  old  cotton  or 
bits  of  sailcloth,  they  were  still  snow  white  ;  and 
that  the  rugs  were  braided  of  rags,  scarlet  shirts 
worn  beyond  any  more  patching,  or  the  remains  of 
a  bright  blue  petticoat  or  a  gray  vest,  and  black 
list  which  the  tailoress  gave  away,  did  not  make 
them  less  gay  and  tasteful  in  tint. 

Old  Sam's  clothes  were  patched  with  such  neat 
patches,  the  buttons  so  invariable,  the  red  shirt 
always  so  bright,  that  he  was  a  matter  of  wonder 
and  admiration  all  along  shore.  And  if  Mary 
Ann  did  her  housework  and  scoured  her  tins  and 
floor,  and  weeded  her  posy  bed,  protected  by  a  big 


38  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

crash  bib  apron  and  a  slat-sided  sun  bonnet,  when 
the  apron  came  off,  and  she  sat  down  to  knit  or 
sew,  or  strolled  on  the  beach  in  the  afternoon,  then 
she  was  always  arrayed  in  a  neat  and  pretty  calico 
gown  or  a  deep  blue  gingham  ;  always  with  some 
white  thing  about  her  round  throat,  —  not  the  least 
shade  of  fashion,  to  be  sure,  but  a  clean  and  pure 
ruffle,  or  a  queer  old  collar  clear-starched  to  per 
fection,  or  a  strip  of  coarse  lace  tied  in  such  a  trim 
bow.  When  you  capped  this  full,  wholesome 
figure  and  clean  attire  with  the  beautiful,  saucy, 
rosy  face,  shining  under  a  wide  black  straw  hat 
that  Sam  Tucker  bought  for  his  "  gal  "  years  ago 
in  Boston,  half  with  an  idea  that  it  was  respectful 
in  her  to  have  "  a  black  bunnet,"  as  he  called  it, 
because  her  mother  was  dead  (poor  woman,  she 
had  been  dead  six  years  then),  and  half  because, 
having  seen  a  very  pretty  girl  at  White  Rocks, 
where  ho  went  every  year  to  take  out  sailing 
parties,  with  just  such  a  hat,  he  thought  Mary 
Ann  would  become  it,  —  then,  though  you  did  not 
see  a  Broadway  belle,  you  saw  a  wonderfully  pretty 
girl,  especially  when  the  old  black  hat  was  set  off 
by  a  plume  of  waving  grass  from  the  salt  marsh,  a 
cluster  of  pink  wild  roses,  a  string  of  glittering 
yellow  shells,  a  garland  of  gay  sea  mosses,  or  a 
pompon  of  rich  goldenrod  put  in  with  the  artistic 
effect  a  French  milliner's  fingers  might  have  longed 
to  imitate,  and  longed  in  vain.  Moreover,  the  girl 
had  a  good  straight  shape  of  her  own  ;  there  was 
room  in  the  shapely  chest  for  a  cheery,  ringing 


MARY  ANN'S  MIND.  39 

voice  that  was  the  delight  of  old  Sam  as  it  trolled 
the  quaint  songs  of  the  fisherman  or  a  good  loud 
Methodist  hymn,  and  her  strong  arms,  if  they  were 
not  white,  were  both  round  and  dimpled. 

No  wonder  Mary  Ann  had  so  many  lovers. 
Perhaps  no  wonder  that  she  did  not  choose  one. 
It  is  pleasant  as  well  as  provident  to  have  a 
good  many  strings  to  your  bow,  and  when  Jake 
Hazard  had  to  go  bluefishing  in  earnest,  not  for 
fun,  and  she  did  not  want  to  be  crowded  with  dead 
fish,  and  wet  lines,  and  two  or  three  men,  into 
a  dirty  boat  all  day  long,  there  was  always  Joe 
Tucker  or  Ephraim  Conklin  to  go  after  berries 
with  her,  or  some  other  Conklin,  or  Tucker,  or 
Hazard  to  take  her  crabbing,  or  shoot  peeps  for 
her,  rewarded  thereafter  by  a  supper  of  crabs  or 
peep  pie,  savory  meats  which  Mary  Ann  perfectly 
understood  preparing.  So  she  really  never  seemed 
to  care  about  marrying  anybody.  She  had  her 
father  to  look  after,  and  time  enough  to  enjoy  her 
youth,  and  her  beauty,  and  her  adorers.  But  all 
this  profited  the  adorers  nothing.  She  eluded  any 
grasp  that  might  fix  her  anywhere,  like  a  sagacious 
swallow  that  will  wheel  and  flit  about  your  head  if 
you  sit  still  enough,  but  if  you  move  hand  or  foot 
darts  off  into  space  with  a  derisive  twitter,  and  is 
seen  no  more.  So  the  lovers  gradually  dropped 
off.  They  would  have  given  their  very  best  pos 
sessions  to  move  her  careless  heart,  but  it  was  evi 
dent  that  all  the  inducements  they  could  offer  were 
useless.  They  were  practical  beings,  men  wanting 


40  MAEY  ANN'S  MIND. 

a  home  and  a  wife  to  keep  the  home  and  them  tidy 
and  thrifty.  Sentiment  being  put  out  of  the  ques 
tion,  they  turned  to  the  creed  of  "the  fat-faced 
curate  Edward  Bull :  "  - 

"  A  pretty  face  is  well,  and  this  is  well, 
To  have  a  dame  indoors,  that  trims  us  up, 
And  keeps  us  tight," 

finding  plenty  of  good,  honest  girls  in  the  scattered 
village,  less  coy  and  scornful  than  the  beauty  of 
Sandy  Creek.  But  Jake  Hazard  remained  faith 
ful  ;  his  nature  was  strong  and  true.  The  quips 
and  cranks  of  his  fun  and  good-humor  were  but 
the  crest  of  foam  bells  on  a  forceful  and  persistent 
depth,  a  constant  and  mighty  tide  setting  toward 
one  shore.  Perhaps  Mary  Ann  did  not  perceive 
this  fact ;  perhaps  she  thought  him  gay  and  care 
less,  as  young  men  are  apt  to  be.  It  certainly 
never  crossed  her  mind,  as  a  real  and  earnest  ques 
tion,  whether  she  meant  to  marry  Jake,  or  even  if 
he  meant  to  marry  her  ;  but  on  his  part  the  matter 
was  thoroughly  settled,  though  till  to-day  he  had 
never  spoken  of  it.  Perhaps  it  was  the  brilliant 
day,  for  it  was  June,  and  the  air  was  vivid  with 
sky  above  and  sea  below,  and  the  cool  salt  breath 
of  the  ocean  inspired  even  languid  lungs  and  faint 
ing  vitality  like  a  powerful  elixir.  The  great 
green  waves  reared  up  along  the  shore,  shaking 
white  crests  of  foam  in  splendid  defiance,  and  dash 
ing  their  mighty  length  upon  the  sand,  crumbled 
back  with  hissing  crush  of  ten  thousand  tiny  bub 
bles  on  their  line,  only  to  rise  and  charge  again 


MAEY  ANN'S  MIND.  41 

with  swing,  and  roar,  and  crash,  till  the  shore  trem 
bled.  Outside,  the  long  waves  swung  the  old 
whaleboat  up  and  down  with  mad  delight.  The 
bluefish  leaped  at  the  bait  with  eager,  venomous 
heads,  and  tore  and  plunged  when  they  felt  the 
hook,  showing  such  fight  that  it  was  keen  sport 
to  draw  them,  gleaming  and  jumping,  through 
the  water  and  over  the  gunwale,  and  throw  them 
on  to  the  glistening  heap  that  already  covered  the 
bottom.  Jake's  gray  eyes  glowed  with  excitement, 
the  blood  rose  in  his  tanned  cheek,  his  white  teeth 
showed,  set  and  firm,  under  the  half-open  lips,  and 
his  swaying  muscular  figure  would  have  been  a 
fine  study  for  an  artist. 

"  Ginger  !  this  here  's  sport,  ain't  it  ?  "  sung  out 
Hosy  Long. 

"  Pretty  good,  pretty  good ! "  Jake  shouted 
back  to  him,  setting  his  teeth  together  in  a  short, 
sharp  contest  with  the  biggest  bluefish  of  the  haul, 
which  in  another  minute  lay  flapping  and  boun 
cing  at  Hosy's  feet. 

"  Dang  it  all !  that 's  a  most  monstrous  fish5 
Jake." 

"  That 's  the  sockdolager,  old  feller." 

"Well,  naow,"  said  Hosy,  keeping  the  boat 
trimmed  carefully  while  Jake  rebaited  his  line, 
"  that  'ere  one  would  be  tasty  for  supper,  I  tell 
you,  briled  on  the  coals,  'nd  buttered  up,  long  o'  a 
good  shortcake  'nd  some  store  tea." 

Hosy  paused  and  gloated  on  the  fine  fat  fish 
with  blinking  green  eyes  and  broad  red  face,  that 


12  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

was  the  picture  of  good-humor.  Then  he  took  to 
speech  again :  — 

"  Ef  you  'd  got  an  old  woman  naow,  Jake,  to  your 
house,  I  'xpect  you  'nd  me  would  have  a  fustrate 
supper  for  one  time,  would  n't  we  ?  " 

"  I  reckon,"  answered  Jake,  feeling  on  his  taut 
line  to  see  if  it  were  stretched  by  the  ebbing  tide 
or  a  pulling  fish.  "  An'  what 's  more,  Hosy,  I  'm 
goin'  to  hev  a  house  V  home  afore  I  'm  gray,  I 
tell  ye." 

"  Lor,  naow !  you  be  ?  What  does  Mary  Ann 
say  to  thet  sarcumstance  ?  " 

"  She  's  got  to  say  somethin'  afore  long.  I  'm 
tired  o'  foolin',"  muttered  Jake  between  his  teeth, 
giving  a  vicious  jerk  to  his  line,  which  was  ra 
ging  up  and  down  at  the  mercy  of  another  fish, 
which,  however,  he  speedily  hauled  in  and  added 
to  the  flapping  heap.  "  I  say,  Hosy,  't  ain't  no 
good  to  flounder  round  on  a  hook.  I  'd  get  off 
on 't  ef  I  tore  my  jaw  out,  soon 's  I  found  't  was 
for  sport  folks  was  ketchin'  me  ;  bizness  's  another 
matter." 

"  Wall,  wall,  she 's  a  young  cretur.  Mebbe  she 
dono  what  she  doos  want." 

"  That  ain't  my  sitooation  by  the  Lord,  sir  !  I 
know  what  I  want  ennyway,  and  I  '11  hev  it  or  let 
it  go,  smack  and  smooth,  afore  new  moon  comes 
agin,  or  my  name  ain't  Jake  Hazard." 

Hosy's  simple  soul  quivered  at  the  stern  and 
almost  fierce  energy  of  Jake's  declaration.  Not 
that  he  was  afraid  himself,  but  he  saw  breakers 


MARY  ANN1  Si  MIND.  43 

ahead,  as  he  would  have  phrased  it,  storms  of  pas 
sion  and  excitement,  an  end  to  quiet  fishing  bouts 
with  Jake,  lazy,  pleasant  strolls  after  blueberries 
with  Mary  Ann,  and  cozy  suppers  at  Sam  Tucker's. 
He  was  an  ease-loving,  weak-kneed  brother,  ready 
to  sell  what  he  called  his  soul  at  any  time  for 
peace  or  pottage,  the  very  type  of  man  who  wrecks 
his  own  life  and  ruins  others  for  the  want  of  a  lit 
tle  courage  and  candor,  whose  cry  was  always  the 
selfish  howl  of  "Let  me  alone,"  "after  me  the 
deluge."  But  Hosy's  lazy  longing  for  peace  could 
work  no  wreck  or  woe  in  Jake's  affairs,  though  he 
made  a  feeble  effort  to  "  save  the  pieces  "  in  an  in 
terview  with  Mary  Ann  that  very  night,  being  de 
puted,  as  soon  as  they  came  in  with  their  spoils,  to 
carry  the  big  fish  up  to  Sam  Tucker's  as  a  present 
from  Jake.  Mary  Ann  met  him  with  beaming 
eyes. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  that 's  jest  what  I  wanted,  for 
aunt  Semanthy  's  come  to  supper,  'nd  uncle  Royal, 
and  I  had  n't  a  special  thing  for  'em,  —  bread,  'n' 
butter,  'n'  sass,  'n'  dried  halibut,  that's  all."  * 

"This  is  the  king  o'  the  crowd,"  said  Hosy, 
looking  at  the  beautiful  silver-bellied,  blue-backed 
creature  with  honest  admiration.  "I  guess  he  made 
'em  fly  down  below.  He  come  up  with  a  rush 
naow,  I  tell  ye,  but  Jake  was  too  much  for  him. 
Jake  's  a  masterful  critter  as  ever  I  see.  Say, 
Mary  Ann,"  and  here  his  voice  fell  into  an  omi 
nous  whisper,  "  you  look  out  for  Jake.  Counsel 
with  me.  naow.  Ef  I  be  a  poor  feller  I've  got  sense 


44  MAEY  ANN'S  MIND. 

into  me.  You  let  Jake  hev  his  head  giner'lly. 
'T  will  be  a  vast  better  for  you  ef  ye  do." 

"  What  air  you  a-talkin'  about,  Hosy  Long  ?  " 
retorted  Mary  Ann  with  an  air  of  genuine  aston 
ishment. 

"  Oh,  nothin',  nothin'  much,  nothin'  pertikler, 
only  'f  I  was  you  I  would  n't  be  the  one  to  get 
ath'art  o'  Jake's  hawse,  not  ef  " — 

"  I  'd  jist  hev  you  to  know,  sir,"  snapped  Mary 
Ann,  the  quick  color  rising  "  angry  and  brave," 
in  her  glowing  cheeks,  — "  I  'd  jist  hev  you  to 
know  that  Jake  Hazard's  nothin'  to  me,  nor  I 
ain't  goin'  to  cotton  to  no  man  because  he 's  mas 
terful.  I  guess  I  can  be  masterful  myself,  if  I  'm 
a  mind  to,  so  there."  With  which  shake  out  of  her 
flag  she  slammed  the  door  in  Hosy's  face,  and  that 
dejected  being  bewailed  himself  plaintively  enough. 

"  Oh,  Lord !  I  've  gone  an'  done  it  naow,  ef  I 
never  did  afore.  I  hope  to  glory  V  goodness  she 
won't  never  tell  Jake.  I  'm  darned  to  thuiideration 
ef  I  don't  believe  she  will !  Oh,  Jeerus'lem !  " 

And  Hosy  betook  himself  to  the  fish  house, 
scratching  his  sandy  poll  ruefully  as  he  went,  but 
resolved  to  say  nothing  to  Jake,  and  to  answer 
everything  he  might  be  asked  thereafter  with 
wholesale  and  persistent  denial. 

Yet  after  all  he  had  done  Jake  an  unconscious 
service,  for  Mary  Ann  was  fully  and  fairly  brought 
to  ask  herself  if  what  she  had  just  now  said  in  her 
sudden  anger  was  really  the  truth.  Suppose  Hosy 
told  Jake  what  she  did  say,  and  he  took  it  for 


MAEY  ANN'S  MIND.  45 

granted  that  she  really  did  not  care  for  him  at  all? 
It  was  a  small  point  to  rankle  in  Mary  Ann's 
mind,  but  it  was  the  point  of  a  wedge.  She  cooked 
the  big  bluefish  for  supper  with  her  usual  skill, 
and  while  its  crisp  brown  surface  and  creamy 
flakes  of  flesh  were  being  disposed  of,  with  sundry 
flattering  remarks  both  to  fisherman  and  cook,  she 
fretted  inwardly  a  little,  while  she  was  pleased 
enough  with  the  commendations. 

But  Mary  Ann  was  not  metaphysical  —  there 
are  some  benefits  after  all  in  a  want  of  education ; 
if  you  do  not  know  how  to  analyze  your  emotions, 
and  take  your  "  inwardness  "  to  pieces  as  a  bota 
nist  does  a  flower,  you  are  spared  much  futile 
speculation  into  profitless  subjects,  much  soul- 
wearying  and  unhappy  consciousness,  and  may 
live  and  die  even  as  a  blossom  in  simple  trust  and 
peace.  Mary  Ann  went  about  her  work  with  110 
special  self-torment  after  the  first  uneasy  idea  of 
Jake  and  his  possibilities  had  entered  her  mind. 
If  she  thought  of  him  a  little  oftener,  and  re 
membered  what  uncle  R'yal  had  said  about  "  them 
Hazards,"  as  a  family,  and  how  aunt  Semanthy 
had  echoed,  "  Yis ;  they  're  dreadful  reliable  folks, 
allers  was.  Gran'ther  Hazard  was  one  of  the 
smartest  men  ever  ye  see.  Good  for  a  fishin'  bout 
up  to  ninety  year  old  ;  spry  as  a  cricket ;  did  n't 
hev  no  sickness  so  to  speak  durin'  his  lifetime,  an' 
died  of  a  shockanum  palsy  to  the  last."  Why,  all 
this  was  what  she  knew  before,  so  she  thought  no 
more  about  it  the  next  day,  but  hurried  her  work 


46  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

over,  and  putting  on  her  hat,  took  a  basket  and  set 
her  face  inland  toward  a  hill  where  wild  strawber 
ries  grew  thick  and  sweet.  There  was  a  long  walk 
before  her  across  the  fields,  and  the  sandy  lanes  were 
too  heavy  to  choose  as  a  path  when  the  short  turf 
lay  crisply  in  the  lots,  so  she  stepped  over  the 
low  wall  of  loose  stone,  and  thereby  came  within 
the  range  of  Jake's  vision  just  as  he  dragged  his 
boat  up  the  beach,  having  been  across  the  bay  to 
the  lighthouse.  He  overtook  her  soon  with  his 
long  strides,  and  Mary  Ann  was  glad  enough  to 
have  company.  With  a  certain  native  tact,  Jake 
forbore  to  intrude  his  passion  on  her  notice  till  the 
basket  was  filled  with  fragrant  berries,  and  they 
sat  down  a  moment  for  a  rest  on  a  fallen  tree. 
Neither  of  them  consciously  admired  nature,  but 
yet  they  felt  a  serene  calm  that  hung  over  the 
view  spread  out  before  them,  —  the  gently  heaving, 
beryl  sea,  the  still,  blue  heaven,  the  distant  and 
incessant  murmur  of  white  waves  lapping  the  shore, 
the  dull  green  fields  bordered  with  tawny  sand, 
and  far  away  the  lighthouse  tower  and  the  sailing 
ships  that  drifted  to  or  from  the  wide  horizon,  all 
these  stole  into  their  senses  and  kept  them  silent 
for  a  while,  but  Jake's  heart  burned  within  him. 
It  was  not  his  way  to  put  off  a  crisis,  to  mince 
matters  ;  he  was  full  of  curt  courage  and  resolve, 
and  now  he  had  business  of  mortal  import  to  him 
to  settle  with  Mary  Ann,  he  neither  could  nor 
would  delay  it,  so  he  broke  the  silence  somewhat 
abruptly:  — 


MARY  ANN>&  MIND.  47 

"  Mary  Ann,"  said  he,  "  I  suppose  you  've  seen 
quite  a  spell  that  I  like  you  f  ustrate.  I  Ve  spoke 
it  loud  enough  in  actions,  but  I  know  folks  has 
got  to  use  words  sometimes  ef  they  want  answers, 
and  I  do  want  one  the  wust  way.  Will  you  marry 
me,  Mary  Ann  ?  " 

The  hot  color  rushed  up  to  the  girl's  face.  She 
was  startled,  and  a  traitorous  echo  in  her  own 
heart  startled  her  more  than  Jake's  words.  She 
had  a  bunch  of  sweet  fern  in  her  hand,  and  she 
began  to  pull  the  odorous  leaves  off  one  by  one, 
as  an  excuse  for  keeping  her  eyes  cast  down. 

"  Will  you  ?     Say !  "  repeated  Jake. 

"  We-ell,  I  dono,  Jake.  I  hain't  thought  o' 
such  a  thing." 

The  coquettish  nature  was  uppermost  now.  Her 
lips  curled  at  the  corners  with  a  wicked  little 
smile,  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  voice  grew  arch. 

"  Time  you  did,"  retorted  Jake.  "  I  've  been 
a-hangin'  round  ye  this  two  year,  's  though  the  sun 
rose  'nd  sot  in  your  face,  'nd  I  can't  stan'  it  no 
longer.  I  want  to  know  suthin'  for  sartin,  Mary 
Ann." 

"  Well  —  you  see,"  slowly  pulling  the  fern  leaves, 
"  I  don't  —  know  —  I  haven  't  made  up  —  my  mind 
yet  —  about  marry  in'." 

"  Make  it  up  now,  then." 

"  Mercy  to  me,  Jake  Hazard.  What  an  idea  — 
no,  sir  ;  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  hurry  for  nobody.  I 
can  live  'thout  gettin'  married,  I  guess,  ef  you 
can't." 


48  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

"  I  didn  't  say  I  could  n't,"  growled  Jake.  "  I 
don't  oalkerlate  to  die  for  nobody ;  but  I  sha'n't 
marry  nobody  but  you,  Mary  Ann  Tucker,  and  I 
want  to  know  ef  I  'm  goin'  to  do  that." 

Mary  Ann  gave  a  little  laugh.  It  was  not 
heartless,  though  it  seemed  so  to  Jake,  who  was  in 
dead  earnest.  It  was  merely  an  outlet  of  the  inner 
excitement  she  really  felt,  and  she  followed  it  up 
with  the  truth,  though  she  spoke  it  with  a  certain 
levity.  "I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  know 
when  I  don't  know  myself.  I  told  ye  I  had  n't 
made  up  my  mind." 

"  Well,  how  long  is  it  goin'  to  take  ye  to  do 
it  ?  "  ventured  the  wrathful  lover,  who  longed  to 
shake  her  soundly  for  her  naughtiness,  thoroughly 
misunderstanding  her,  as  men  will  misunderstand 
women  till  the  day  of  judgment,  especially  if  they 
are  in  love  with  them. 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  she  answered. 

Jake  controlled  his  rising  rage  manfully. 
"  Well,  then,"  said  he,  rising,  and  looking  down  at 
her,  "  I  give  ye  notice,  Mary  Ann,  I  shall  keep 
askin'  till  I  find  out ;  onless  I  ;m  onlucky  enough 
to  b'lieve  you  don't  want  to  know  yerself." 

She  laughed  again,  but  made  no  answer. 
They  walked  silently  down  the  hill  together,  and 
parted  at  her  door.  Mary  Ann  meant  to  have 
asked  him  in  to  tea,  for  she  was  about  to  prepare 
that  barbarous  dainty,  a  strawberry  shortcake,  for 
supper,  aunt  Semanthy  having  brought  down  from 
her  farm  a  pail  of  cream  the  day  before.  But 


MARY  ANN'S  MIND.  49 

Jake  had  unwittingly  deprived  himself  of  the 
feast ;  and  even  if  Mary  Ann  had  not  been  too  dis 
turbed  to  ask  him,  both  luscious  berries  and  unc 
tuous  shortcake  would  have  been  gall  and  bitter 
ness  to  his  lips,  for  he  was  terribly  disappointed. 
Perhaps  he  would  not  have  been  so  miserable  if 
she  had  said  "  No,"  finally.  There  are  some  na 
tures  to  which  suspense  is  worse  than  despair ;  and 
his  was  one  of  that  sort. 

Mary  Ann,  fortunately  for  herself,  had  an  ab 
sorbing  object  in  view,  besides  her  housework. 
There  was  to  be  a  clam-bake  at  Point  Peter  on  the 
Fourth  of  July,  at  which  all  the  village  of  Sandy 
Creek,  even  to  the  babies  in  arms,  expected  to 
be  present,  and  long  ago  she  liad  promised  Jake 
to  go  in  his  boat ;  not  alone,  for  Hosy  Long  and 
Aniiy  Hazard,  and  Joe  Conklin  and  his  wife,  were 
of  that  boatload,  as  well  as  her  father  ;  so  that  her 
late  interview  with  Jake  need  not  embarrass  her  on 
this  occasion.  But  she  had  to  make  a  new  dress 
and  some  fresh  ruffles,  both  necessitating  a  drive 
to  Natick  Pier,  the  nearest  village ;  and  then  the 
shaping  and  sewing  of  the  festive  attire  at  home, 
after  it  was  bought,  occupied  her  head  and  hands 
for  at  least  two  weeks,  in  the  intervals  of  house 
work. 

Jake  thought  of  her  all  the  time,  on  sea  and 
land ;  dreamed  of  her  by  night,  and  sung  about 
her  by  day,  —  when  he  was  alone,  and  far  enough 
from  shore  to  be  unheard.  Nor  did  he  leave  her 
quite  at  peace  ;  for  once,  as  she  sat  on  the  door- 


50  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

step  busily  stitching  at  her  gown,  the  sunlight  gild 
ing  her  burnished  hair,  and  deepening  the  hue  of 
her  bright  cheeks  and  lips,  Jake  came  up  from 
the  shore,  and  suddenly  darkened  those  level  west 
ern  rays  with  stern  and  sad  aspect. 

"  Have  you  made  up  your  mind,  Mary  Ann  ?  " 
he  asked  her  distinctly  and  sorrowfully. 

Mary  Ann  was  vexed  ;  this  was  too  much.  She 
snapped  back  pertly  enough,  "  No,  I  have  n't,  and 
I  sha'n't  never  if  you  're  a-goin'  to  pester  me  so  !  " 

"  Yes,  you  will,"  was  the  deliberate  reply,  much 
in  the  tone  of  a  schoolmaster  to  a  naughty  boy, 
and  Jake  walked  away.  If  he  had  turned  to  lookf 
back  he  would  have  seen  her  crying  bitterly,  half 
with  rage,  it  is  true,  but  at  least  half  because  he 
walked  away. 

Another  week  went  by,  and  one  hot  afternoon 
Mary  Ann  and  three  or  four  of  her  friends  had 
gone  down  to  bathe.  The  girls  at  Sandy  Creek 
knew  how  to  swim,  as  well  as  the  boys ;  and  these 
extempore  mermaids  liked  to  splash  about  in  the 
fresh  coolness  of  the  water  almost  as  if  they  had 
been  the  genuine  kind,  though  there  was  nothing 
siren  in  their  aspect.  They  had  bathed  and 
dressed,  and  were  going  home  from  the  retired 
little  cove  which  was  set  apart  for  their  use,  when 
Jake  Hazard  appeared,  cany  ing  an  armful  of  fish 
ing  tackle,  bait,  scoop,  and  lines,  and  a  big  basket 
of  fish.  His  way  home  lay  by  Sam  Tucker's  door, 
while  the  rest  went  further  down  the  beach.  Mary 
Ann  walked  on  a  little  before  him,  her  long  drip- 


MARY  ANN'<S  MIND.  51 

ping  tresses  hanging  to  her  knees,  coiling  and  curl 
ing,  as  the  salt  breeze  blew  them  about  her,  in  a 
thousand  darkly  shining  rings,  and  her  white, 
shapely  ankles  betrayed  by  the  short  skirt  she 
wore,  for  the  day  was  so  hot  that  she  had  gone 
barefoot  to  the  beach.  They  went  along  in  silence, 
till,  just  as  they  reached  the  door,  Jake  said,  in  a 
low  voice,  perfectly  audible,  however,  to  this  one 
hearer :  — 

"  Mary  Ann,  have  you  made  up  your  mind  ?  " 

Mary  Ann  was  exasperated.  Who  would  not 
have  been  ?  She  faced  Jake  with  the  look  of  a 
creature  at  bay  in  her  dark  eyes.  "  No,  sir  !  and 
I  never  '11  find  it  till  you  stop  pesterin',  there  !  " 

Jake  looked  at  her,  full-faced,  with  a  determined 
expression  that  almost  daunted  her.  "  I  never 
shall  stop  —  till  I  know,"  he  answered  gravely ; 
and  went  his  way. 

Mary  Ann  was  angry ;  but  she  was  also  scared. 
When  a  man  falls  back  on  his  masculine  suprem 
acy,  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  demands  that  a 
woman  shall  give  way.  And  she  does,  though  she 
may  not  always  show  it.  Mary  Ann  began  to  feel, 
rather  than  to  think,  that  Jake  was,  in  her  fashion 
of  speech,  "  the  biggest,"  and  from  that  moment 
began  to  find  out  that  she  loved  him.  Yet  she 
would  not  tell  him  so. 

The  Fourth  of  July  came  at  last,  —  bright,  hot, 
beaming,  as  holiday  weather  should  be,  —  and  at 
nine  o'clock  Mary  Ann's  fire  was  out,  her  house 
was  in  order,  her  big  basket  of  bread,  butter,  cold 


52  MAEY  ANN1 8  MIND. 

coffee,  and  pickles  neatly  packed,  her  father  sit 
ting  on  the  doorstep,  and  she  beside  him,  wait 
ing  for  the  boat.  A  pretty  picture  they  made,  — 
Sam  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  with  his  coat  over  his 
arm,  his  spotless  shirtsleeves  scarce  whiter  than 
the  silvery  hair  that  showed  under  his  brown  felt 
hat,  and  his  wrinkled,  kindly  face  and  keen,  dark 
eye  pleasant  as  the  day  itself  ;  and  Mary  Ann,  in 
the  new  pink -and -white  calico,  her  pretty  head 
rising  from  a  full,  soft  ruffle,  clear  and  snowy,  and 
her  old  black  hat  smartened  up  with  a  white  mus 
lin  scarf  about  the  crown,  and  a  bunch  of  pinks, 
from  the  posy  bed,  fastened  in  the  bow,  their  clean, 
spicy  breath  perfuming  the  air  about  her, 

Jake  Hazard  looked  at  her  with  adoring  eyes. 
His  mind  was  made  up  even  more  than  usual,  if 
that  were  possible  ;  for  he  had  devised  a  plan,  to 
be  carried  out  that  very  day,  which  should,  once  for 
all,  end  his  suspense ;  since  he  too  had  concluded, 
in  the  spirit  of  the  old  distich  :  — 

"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 
Or  his  desert  is  small, 
Who  fears  to  put  it  to  the  touch, 
To  win  or  lose  it  all." 

Certainly  Mary  Ann  would  not  have  gone  to 
ward  her  fate  —  as  well  as  the  boat  —  with  such  a 
happy  and  smiling  face,  had  she  known  what  was 
before  her. 

The  journey  over  to  Point  Peter  was  delightful. 
A  light  breeze  filled  the  sail,  and  flapped  the  long 
red  pennant  above  it.  There  was  plenty  of  fun 


MARY  ANN1^  MIND.  53 

and  laughter ;  Jake  himself  seemed  as  gay  as  the 
rest,  and  Mary  Ann  owned  to  herself,  as  she 
looked  at  him  furtively  from  under  her  broad  hat, 
that  he  was  "  awful  good-looking ! "  And  less 
prejudiced  observers  might  agree  with  her.  Jake's 
simple  costume  of  white  duck  trousers  and  a  dark 
blue  flannel  shirt,  a  wide-brimmed  straw  hat,  set 
well  on  the  thick  curls  of  his  fine  head,  and  the 
keen  animation  of  his  clear-cut,  honest  face  below 
it,  were  certainly  picturesque. 

They  landed  at  Point  Peter  in  the  best  of  hu 
mors  ;  and  immediately  the  preparations  for  the 
clam-bake  began,  for  the  rest  of  the  company  were 
there  before  them.  For  a  wonder  all  went  right ; 
there  were  no  mishaps,  no  vexations.  The  simple 
fisher-folk,  in  their  primitive  fashion,  enjoyed  the 
rare  holiday  to  the  top  of  their  bent.  After  din 
ner,  Jake  proposed  to  Mary  Ann  that  they  should 
take  a  rowboat  and  go  up  Natick  Bay  to  Blue 
berry  Island,  where  the  low  blueberries  already 
dotted  the  turf  with  dwarf  brush  loaded  with  tur 
quoise  spheres. 

"  If  Hosy  and  Anny  will  go,"  said  Mary  Ann. 

So  Hosy  was  sent  after  Anny,  and  Mary  Ann 
walked  down  to  the  boat  with  Jake,  and  sitting 
down  on  one  of  the  seats,  with  her  face  shoreward, 
to  watch  for  the  others,  Jake,  being  behind  her, 
silently  put  the  oars  in  place,  and  with  one  sudden 
sweep  of  his  powerful  arms  drove  it  off.  Mary 
Ann  cried  out. 

"  Well,"  tranquilly  replied  Jake,  "  we  might  as 
well  be  rowin'  round  till  they  come." 


54  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

But  Mary  Ann  observed  that,  instead  of  "  row- 
in'  round,' '  the  boat  headed  straight  for  the  mouth 
of  the  bay,  and  remonstrated  accordingly. 

"  Well,  well,  Mary  Ann,  I  '11  just  put  ye  ashore 
on  the  Rock,  'nd  go  back  and  fetch  'em  along,  ef 
you  say  so.  You  've  always  hankered  to  go  onto 
the  Rock,  you  said,  when  we  was  comin'  over." 

The  Rock  was  a  little  bare  islet,  with  one  dwarf 
cedar  on  it,  stunted  and  spread  by  driving  rain  and 
furious  winds  into  the  rough  shape  of  an  umbrella, 
and  commonly  reputed  to  be  a  wonderful  place  for 
pretty  pebbles.  Mary  Ann  cared  less  for  the  peb 
bles  than  for  getting  out  of  a  tete-a-tete  with  Jake, 
so  she  jumped  at  the  proposition.  Now  the  Rock 
was  quite  out  of  sight  of  Point  Peter,  and  full 
a  mile  away.  Jake  drew  his  prow  close  to  the 
abrupt  edge  of  the  islet,  where  one  upward  step 
safely  landed  his  passenger,  drove  the  boat  a  sin 
gle  stroke's  length  off,  and  then,  deliberately  draw 
ing  in  his  oars,  spoke  as  follows :  — 

"  Now,  Mary  Ann,  I  've  bobbed  at  the  end  of 
your  string  as  long  as  is  reasonable  ;  I  can't  do  it 
no  more.  There  you  be,  and  here  I  be  ;  and  here 
both  of  us  '11  stay  till  you  've  finally  made  up  your 
mind." 

Mary  Ann  was  dumb.  She  was  stunned  for  a 
moment ;  then  she  was  angry. 

"  How  dare  you,  Jake  Hazard !  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  've  got  to  a  pitch  where  I  darst 
do  a'most  anything." 

Mary  Ann  looked  at  his  set  mouth,  his  steady, 


MARY  ANN?S  MIND.  55 

resolute  eyes,  his  air  of  stern  self-possession,  and 
felt  that  he  spoke  the  simple  truth.  But  it  was 
not  in  her  to  give  up.  She  saw,  or  rather  felt, 
very  plainly  that  she  did  not  want  to  lose  him ; 
that  she  liked  him  very,  very  much  :  but  not  the 
less  did  she  feel  rebellious  and  outraged  by  this  ex 
traordinary  proceeding. 

"  It 's  fair  to  tell  you  one  thing,  Mary  Ann,"  he 
began  again.  "If  you  fin'lly  make  up  your  mind 
ag'inst  me,  I  shall  never  fault  you  for 't.  I  shall 
clear  out  o'  these  parts  for  the  future.  I  could  n't 
stay  here."  An  unconscious  tremor  and  sadness 
thrilled  in  these  last  words ;  and  Mary  Ann  felt  it. 
She  saw,  in  a  flash  of  imagination,  what  Sandy 
Creek  would  be  without  Jake.  Indeed,  all  her 
own  life !  But  even  this  did  not  move  her  out 
wardly  ;  she  sat  quite  still  on  the  stone  ;  she  forgot 
all  about  the  pebbles  ;  she  only  thought  of  Jake's 
demand,  and  resolved  never  to  yield  to  it,  if  she 
stayed  there  a  week.  And  she  might  have  sat 
there  long  enough  to  discomfit  her  jailer  and  her 
self  both,  had  not  a  certain  sound  approached  her 
ears,  —  for  the  wind  had  suddenly  veered  round  to 
the  east,  —  a  dip  of  slowly  pulling  oars.  And  in 
a  deep,  nasal  voice,  which  she  recognized  as  Hosy 
Long's,  the  following  'longshore  ditty,  coming 
nearer  and  nearer,  from  the  direction  of  Point 
Peter,  resounded  distinctly :  — 

"  Uncle  Keziah  and  his  son  Sam 
They  went  to  sea  in  the  shell  of  a  clam, 
A-o-utside  o' the  P'int! 


56  MARY  ANN'S  MIND. 

"  They  put  up  the  helium  an'  put  her  abaout, 
The  sea  it  went  in  an'  Sam  he  went  aout, 
A-o-utside  o'  the  P'int ! 

"  Uncle  Keziah  he  cussed  an'  he  swore 
He  'd  ne'er  go  to  sea  in  a  shell  any  more, 
A-o-utside  o'  the  P'int !  " 


Women  are  "  cur'us  creturs,"  as  Hosy  was  wont 
to  remark :  whether  it  was  the  terror  of  approach 
ing  observers,  or  the  ludicrous  drawl  of  Hosy's 
song,  or  the  weary  waiting  and  heat,  or  some  fierce 
and  subtler  influence  she  knew  not  how  to  name, 
suddenly  Mary  Ann's  heart  gave  way  without  her 
will  or  wish,  she  broke  down  utterly,  and  with  an 
unconcealed  sob  of  agitation  stretched  out  both 
hands  to  Jake. 

"  Come !  "  she  said,  and  when  Jake  took  her  in 
his  strong  arms  and  lifted  her  into  the  boat  like 
a  big  baby,  he  knew  from  the  soft,  shy  look  in  her 
beautiful  eyes  and  the  lingering  of  her  arm  upon 
his  shoulder  that  Mary  Ann  had  made  up  her 
mind  at  last,  and  that  he  need  n't  go  away  for 
ever.  Before  either  of  them  could  speak,  Hosy  ap 
peared  round  the  corner. 

"  Wa'al,"  shouted  he,  "  this  is  kinder  upsettin' ; 
why  could  n't  ye  wait  for  a  feller  ?  " 

"  We  did  wait  a  minute,"  laughed  Jake.  "  We 
was  comin'  back  for  ye.  Mary  Ann  wanted  to  land 
on  the  Rock  to  look  for  somethin'  she  lost  t'  other 
day." 

"  Did  she  find  it  ?  "  asked  the  interested  Hosy. 

"  No,  —  I   did,"  dryly  replied  Jake,  and  Mary 


MARY  ANN'S  MIND.  57 

Ann  looked  over  the  gunwale  into  the  water.  She 
has  always  professed  to  Jake  that  she  never  did 
or  would  forgive  him  ;  but  Jake  only  laughs,  know 
ing  very  well  that  there  is  no  happier  or  sweeter 
wife  and  mother  on  all  the  shore  than  Mary  Ann 
Hazard,  and  that  in  her  secret  heart  she  is  very 
glad  he  made  her  know  her  own  mind,  however  he 
did  it  I 


LOVE. 

DEACON  GOODWIN  and  I  were  sorting  apples  at 
the  door  of  the  back  shed,  one  lovely  October  af 
ternoon.  Baldwins,  russets,  greenings,  Swaars,  pip 
pins,  lay  heaped  on  the  little  bit  of  turf,  in  gay 
masses  of  red,  gold,  and  brown  ;  the  clumsy  cart 
body,  tilted  on  end,  poured  out  a  stream  of  ruddy 
fruit,  that  should  have  fallen  from  nothing  less 
picturesque  than  the  horn  of  Ceres  ;  and  far  away, 
over  the  fennel  and  cabbages  in  the  garden,  over 
the  green  sward  of  the  orchard,  the  wooded  hill 
sides  stretched  their  bright  length  on  and  on,  till 
they  were  purple  in  the  distance,  though,  nearer 
at  hand,  scarlet  and  orange  maples,  imperial  crim 
son  oaks,  deep  yellow  birches,  and  purple  dog 
wood  boughs,  mixed  with  dark  spires  of  hem 
lock  and  pine,  shone  jewel-like,  even  through  the 
smoky  air  of  that  hot  autumn  day.  Sorting  apples 
is  not  bad  work,  if  only  you  have  somebody  to 
talk  to ;  at  least,  that  was  my  experience  though 
I  was  but  a  temporary  farmer,  and,  it  may  be, 
more  fond  of  a  "  crack  "  than  I  should  have  been 
had  I  always  earned  my  bread  under  the  fullest 
force  of  the  curse.  Deacon  Goodwin  was  a  silent 
man,  except  at  conference  meeting,  where  he  ha 
rangued  away  with  a  power  and  glory  that  used  up 


LOVE.  59 

all  his  words  for  a  week  to  come  ;  moreover,  his 
soul  just  now  was  vexed  within  him  by  "  them 
boys,"  who  had  tilted  all  the  apples  into  one  heap, 
and  how  he  was  to  discern,  always  and  surely, 
between  Baldwins  and  Spitzenbergs,  Roxbury  rus 
sets  and  russet  sweets,  puzzled  his  eyes  and 
thoughts  to  the  last  degree  ;  so  that  I,  who  had  the 
easier  task  of  putting  the  fair  apples,  from  one 
heap  at  a  time,  into  one  of  a  row  of  clean  barrels, 
that  stood,  like  the  oil-jars  in  the  Forty  Thieves, 
ranged  against  a  wall,  and  throwing  the  rejected 
fruit  into  a  huge  basket,  —  I,  who  had  time  to  talk, 
could  not  even  extract  a  gruff  "  Yes  "  or  "  No  " 
from  the  deacon.  I  was  glad  enough  to  hear  Aunt 
Huldah's  ponderous  step  coming  through  the  shed, 
and  her  hearty  voice  behind  me  :  — 

"Father,  I  want  them  apples  you  ain't  a-goin' 
to  use,  so  's  I  can  make  sass  to-day.  'T  ain't  a-goin' 
to  do  to  put  it  off  any  longer,  and  Kate  can't  be 
pestered  with  it  in  the  middle  of  her  ironin',  so  I 
guess  I  '11  have  the  apples,  and  buckle  to  at  it  my 
self.  Where  be  they  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  deacon,  "  Thomas  has  got 
'em  in  the  corn-basket,  and  I  don't  see  jest  how 
he  's  goin'  to  let  you  hev  the  basket  to  pare  out  on 
in  there,  when  he  's  a-usiii'  of  it  out  here !  " 

"  That's  easy  fixed,"  said  aunty,  never  at  a* loss. 
"  Thomas,  you  jest  bring  my  old  rocker  out  of  the 
kitchen,  and  fetch  along  the  pigs'  pail,  so  I  can 
give  'em  their  share,  and  I  '11  set  right  down  here 
and  do  all  my  chores  to  once,  while  you  're  doin' 


GO  LOVE. 

"  That 's  right,  exactly,  aunty  ! ''  said  I,  flinging 
a  greening  right  into  the  barrel  of  Peck's  Pleas- 
ants,  in  my  relief  at  the  prospect  of  some  society. 
I  firmly  believe  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone, 
in  more  senses  than  one ! 

"  Well,  I  'd  as  lieves  you  should,  Mis'  Good'in," 
chimed  in  her  "  old  man."  "  That  feller  's  a  mas- 
terhand  to  talk,  and  he  's  figgered  away  a  good 
spell  at  it,  all  alone,  till  I  guess  he  's  about  tuckered 
out,  for  I  can't  talk  none ;  them  pesky  boys  have 
mixed  these  apples  till  there  ain't  no  two  alike  in 
the  hull  heap  !  " 

"  Why,    husband  !    do   tell !  "    laughed    aunty  ; 
and  I  went  off  for  the  chair  and  the  pail,  according 
to  orders.     And  while  I  go,  let  me  take  the  oppor 
tunity  to  praise  Aunt  Huldah  Goodwin,  for  she  is 
one  of  a  thousand  —  if,  indeed,  there  be  a  thou 
sand  of  her  class  left  in  these  clays  of  hyper-civili 
zation,  education,  agitation,  and  the  angels  know 
what  not  of  progress  and  the  like  stuff.     Such  a 
''real,  genial,  healthy,  hearty  woman  ;  such  a  simple 
1   tender,  expansive  heart;  such  sturdy  sense;  such 
j  practical  judgment,  —  all  with  a~vein  of  most  un- 
(  suspected  poetry  running  through  it,  that  tempered 
/  her  shrewd  insight  into  men  with  the  loveliest  sun 
shine  of  charity,   and  kept    her  eyes   as    open   to 
'   beauty  of  every  nature  as  her  heart  was  to  kindli- 
v    ness   in   all   its   forms.      Not  of   her   lifeful    and 
mirthful  kind  come  the  array  of  moody  and  mel 
ancholy  farmers'  wives  who,   year  by  year,  swell 
the  lists  of  insanity ;  no  monotony  of  work  pressed 


LOVE.  61 

upon  her  steady  brain  till  the  fine  fibres  gave  way ; 
she  would  have  her  laugh,  as  well  as  her  labor,  and 
the  health  that  rounded  her  ample  figure  and 
tinged  her  somewhat  wrinkled  cheek  with  wintry 
red  helped  both  labor  and  laughter  to  endure  the 
long  strain  of  life.  She  was  "  Aunt  Huldy  "  to 
the  Avhole  village,  and  I  loved  her  as  well  as  if  she 
had  a  better  right  to  the  title,  and  I  a  better  know 
ledge  of  her  goodness  than  the  brief  experience  of 
ifo  summer's  rustication  under  her  roof  afforded. 
However,  here  are  the  rocker  and  the  pigs'  pail. 

"  Set  it  right  down  there,  Thomas,  alongside  of 
the  steps,  so 's  I  can  put  my  feet  up  and  hold  the 
pan  even,  and  put  the  pail  side  of  me  ;  now,  that 's 
handy." 

Hardly  was  Aunt  Huldah  settled  in  her  chair 
arid  at  work,  before  she  called  to  her  husband  in 
a  half  whisper  :  "  Deacon  !  Deacon  Good'in  !  ain't 
that  Mr.  Masters  coming  down  the  lane?  I  de 
clare  if  't  ain't !  "  added  she,  in  a  louder  tone  ;  and, 
pushing  away  pail  and  pan,  she  went  forward  to 
meet  a  tall,  pale  man,  who  came  creeping  along 
past  the  pickets  by  the  aid  of  a  cane,  till  suddenly 
arrested  by  that  cheery  voice,  — 

"  I  want  to  know,  Mr.  Masters,  if  you  've  got  out 
so  far?  Come  in,  and  set  down." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Goodwin,"  said  a  some 
what  querulous  tone.  "  I  must  go  to  Miss  Pea- 
body's,  to  see  about  the  singers  for  Thanksgiving, 
and  Harriet 's  waiting  there  for  me,  I  expect ;  so 
I  must  crawl  along." 


62  LOVE. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would  stop,"  said  Aunt  Hul 
dah. 

"I  wish  I  could,  but  I  can't.  Good-day,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Masters  ;  and  as  he  turned  away  I 
could  see  he  was  blind.  Aunt  Huldah  came  back 
to  her  seat  with  a  great  sigh. 

"  Poor  cretur,  how  he  does  miss  Love  ! "  said  she. 
I  looked  up  at  her  rather  inquiringly. 

"  Why,  we  all  do  that,  don't  we,  aunty  ?  " 

"  I  declare  if  you  did  n't  think  I  meant  love 
with  a  little  /  /  Law,  child,  I  was  thinkin'  about 
his  wife,  she  that  was  Love  Brainerd ;  though  it 
ain't  much  odds,  for  if  ever  anybody  was  called 
pretty  correct  accordin'  to  their  natur',  she  was ; 
there  was  about  as  much  love  to  her  as  there  was 
in  her  name.  She  beat  all  that  ever  I  see  for 
livin'  other  people's  lives,  and  doin'  their  work, 
and  bearin'  their  pains.  I  don't  know  as  she 
know'd  herself  whether  she  was  most  Achsah 
Koot,  or  Jim  Whitman,  or  'Lonzo  Masters,  or 
Love  Brainerd.  I  guess  she  was  least  of  the 
last." 

"  Did  she  live  here  always  ?  Did  you  know  her 
long  ?  "  said  I,  eager  to  betray  Aunt  Huldah  into 
telling  a  story,  and  privately  rejoicing  over  the 
success  of  my  scheme,  as  I  saw  her  settle  down 
more  comfortably  into  her  chair,  and  draw  up  the 
pan  of  apples  further  into  her  lap. 

"  Yes,  she  was  born  here ;  she  V  her  mother, 
the  widder  Brainerd,  lived  a  piece  up  the  Port 
land  road  quite  a  long  spell  when  Love  was  smalL 


LOVE,  63 

I  expect  it  was  real  lonesome  over  there  nights, 
though  the  woods  is  pretty  lively  in  daytime, 
what  with  one  wild  cretur  or  'nother  ;  and  there 
was  Tumbling  Brook  come  into  the  valley  close 
by  their  house,  and  Kattlesnake  Mountain  riz  up 
right  behind  'em.  But  it  was  a  good  ways  off 
from  folks  and  meetin',  and  Miss  Brainerd  was  n't 
a  very  high-couraged  woman.  I  guess  she  had 
some  scary  times  there,  though  she  lived  there  be 
cause  she  owned  the  farm,  and  it  was  a  good  strip 
of  medder  land  after  you  got  down  the  hillside 
where  their  house  was,  and  the  brook  kept  it  wet 
in  the  driest  of  times. 

"  So  Love  grew  up  there.  She  did  n't  have  no 
children  to  be  mates  for  her ;  she  kept  tight  to  her 
mother's  apron  string,  and  if  she  played  in  the 
woods  Mis'  Brainerd  went  along,  'cause  the  child 
was  afraid.  Fact  is,  I  guess  they  both  got  pretty 
trembly  while  old  Brainerd  lived,  for  he  did  have 
the  tremens  like  anything  before  he  died,  and  acted 
more  like  fury.  Well,  Love  she  used  to  get  a 
little  schoolin',  and  more  play ;  for  she  was  n't  a 
very  stubbed  child  :  her  cheeks  was  white,  and  her 
wide  forehead  was  most  too  unnatural  lookiii' ;  but 
she  did  have  a  pair  of  clever  eyes,  that 's  a  fact. 
I  used  to  tell  her  she  'd  catched  'em  of  the  squirrels, 
they  was  so  kinder  shy  and  soft ;  she  did  n't  smile 
very  often,  to  be  sure,  but  when  she  did  it  was 
real  sunshiny  ;  and,  take  her  all  in  all,  she  was 
a  pretty,  personable  child,  only  she  was  too  scary. 
They  lived  up  there  till  Love  was  twelve  year  old, 


64  LOVE. 

and  then  Mis'  Brainerd  she  sold  the  farm  and 
moved  into  the  village  jest  as  't  was  growin'  up 
here ;  for  you  see  there  was  n't  any  village  here  in 
old  times,  only  two  or  three  houses,  —  this  one 
where  my  grandfather  used  to  live,  and  one  at 
each  end  of  Sykes's  bridge,  —  and  they  called  it 
South  Taunton,  'cause  it  belonged  to  the  town  of 
Taunton.  But  nigh  about  thirty  year  ago,  Squire 
Smith  bought  out  Sykes's  mill  privilege  and  set  up 
a  cotton  factory,  and  built  houses  for  his  hands, 
and  a  brick  house  for  his  own,  and  he  wanted  to 
call  it  Smithville ;  but  Mis'  Smith  she  stuck  out 
for  an  Injin  name  :  she  wanted  it  called  Pontoo- 
suc,  after  the  river  ;  so  they  battled  it  a  spell,  and 
it  was  n't  like  to  be  any  better  than  't  was  be 
fore,  when  home  comes  Malviny  Smith  from  York. 
She  always  ruled  to  home,  and  she  would  have  it 
called  Cranberry,  so  Cranberry  't  was.  So,  as  I 
was  tellin',  Mis'  Brainerd  moved  up  here,  to  take 
boarders,  and  be  more  sociable  like,  and  send  Love 
to  the  'cademy.  My !  what  apples  these  be  !  jest 
as  pithy  as  punkins,  and  tasted  like  pigweed. 
Father,  what  do  you  call  these  apples  ?  " 

"  Them  !  "  said  the  deacon,  in  no  way  surprised 
at  the  interlude,  and  meditatively  regarding  the 
fruit  in  question.  "  Well,  them  's  Good'in  apples." 

"  I  declare  !  it 's  the  poorest  thing  of  the  name 
that  ever  I  see,"  laughed  Aunt  Huldah. 

"  Well,  aunty,  —  about  Love  ?  "  said  I,  half 
impatient  and  half  afraid  of  losing  the  story. 

"  Oh,   yes  !   I  guess  you  're    a    masterhand    for 


LOVE.  65 

stories,  ain't  you  ?  What  was  I  a-tellin'  on  ?  Oh, 
I  rec'leet.  So  Mis'  Brainerd  she  took  a  house 
back  of  Squire  Smith's,  and  Love  she  went  to  the 
'cademy.  There  she  worked  like  a  beaver ;  but 
somehow,  from  havin'  lived  always  alone,  and  be 
ing  naturally  fearful  and  shy,  she  could  n't  seem  to 
fellowship  with  any  of  her  mates ;  she'd  only  just 
study  and  sing ;  for  she  did  sing  the  most  like  a 
brown  thrasher  of  anything  I  know  that  ain't  a 
bird.  However,  after  she  'd  been  two  years  there, 
and  was  goin'  on  fifteen,  Achsah  Root  come  from 
Taunton,  to  board  at  Mis'  Brainerd's  and  go  to 
school ;  for  Shubael  Sykes,  that  taught  the  'cad- 
erny,  had  a  great  name  for  learnin',  and  Achsah's 
people  were  well  to  do,  and  they  meant  she  should 
have  the  best  of  learnin'.  "Well,  she  was  real 
handsome  ;  her  eyes,  and  her  hair,  and  her  teeth, 
was  as  bright  as  a  new  pin,  and  she  had  a  neat  lit 
tle  nose,  and  color  like  my  pink  hollyhock  ;  but 
she  was  n't  a  real  pretty  girl  for  all  that.  She  was 
as  proud  as  a  kingbird,  and,  though  she  was  real 
smart  when  she  had  a  mind  to  be,  it  was  as  plain 
as  a  pikestaff  that  she  thought  first  about  Achsah 
Root,  and  after  that,  other  folks  could  take  their 
chance.  Besides,  she  was  pretty  mighty,  and  I  've 
always  noticed  that  when  folks  set  up  their  Eben- 
ezer  as  if  't  was  n't  never  goin'  to  come  down  for 
anybody,  it  don't  very  often  get  so  much  as  joggled* 
The  children  of  this  world  are  wise  in  their  gen 
eration,  the  Scripter  says,  and  I  guess  she  was  one 
of  'em ;  so  it  come  about  that  Love,  who  had  n't 


66  LOVE. 

ever  had  anybody  very  near  to  her  but  her  mother, 
now  come  right  under  Achsah's  thumb,  and  why  it 
was,  nobody  could  tell,  for  never  was  two  people  so 
different. 

"  But  such  things  come,  like  rain,  on  the  just 
and  the  unjust,  and  the  Lord  orders  it.  Love  fol 
lowed  Achsah,  for  all  the  world  like  a  spaniel  dog ; 
she  seemed  as  if  she  would  breathe  for  her ;  she 
was  n't  never  tired  if  Achsah  liked  to  walk  ;  she 
always  had  time  to  do  little  jobs  of  sewing  for  her 
when  she  got  tired  or  lazy  ;  she  walked  her  feet 
nigh  about  off,  to  get  her  flowers,  or  books,  or  any 
thing  she  wanted  ;  and  if  Achsah  was  sick  there 
was  n't  no  end  to  the  things  Love  would  do  for 
her  ;  she  'd  set  up  nights  and  wait  on  her  days. 
I  've  known  her  bend  over  the  bed-head  to  brush 
Achsah's  hair,  till  her  own  lips  was  as  white  as  a 
sheet  with  pain,  for  she  wasn't  very  sturdy,  and 
it 's  hard  work  to  stand  bent  over  that  way  ;  and 
I  've  known  her  cold  nights  to  be  on  her  knees  by 
the  hour,  rubbin'  Achsah's  feet  'cause  she  was  so 
dreadful  nervous  she  could  n't  get  sleep.  Well ! 
you  might  think  Love  wojild  ha'  got  paid  in  her 
own  coin,  for  it  don't  seem  reasonable  to  b'lieve 
that  one  cretur  could  do  so  much  for  another  and 
not  get  some  on  't  back  again  ;  but  it  ain't  so  or 
dered  in  this  world.  Folks  is  obliged  to  love  with 
out  help,  pretty  much  as  the  angels  do,  and  they 
that  gets  the  most  gives  the  least.  It  ain't  that  the 
Scripter  means  when  it  says,  'Give,  and  it  shall 
be  given  unto  you.'  I  don't  doubt  but  what  Ach- 


LOVE.  67 

sah  liked  Love  pretty  well,  but  it  was  n't  in  her  to 
love  anybody  such  a  sight  better  'n  herself.  She 
liked  to  be  waited  on  and  cosseted,  and  jest  so 
long  as  Love  was  workin'  over  her,  and  doin'  for 
her,  Achsah  paid  her  off  with  pretty  looks  and 
words,  so 't  the  color  would  flush  up  into  Love's 
pale  face,  and  her  eyes  would  shine,  and  her  soft 
little  lips  would  tremble  and  pucker,  and  then 
Achsah  'd  laugh,  and  tell  her  she  was  '  a  dear  little 
goose,'  but  she  never  spared  her  none,  for  all  that. 
Lovin'  some  folks  is  jest  like  pickin'  chestnuts  out 
of  the  burr,  —  you  keep  a-prickin'  your  fingers  all 
the  time,  and  the  more  you  try  and  keep  on,  the 
more  it  pricks  :  some  will  stick  to  it  till  they  get 
the  chestnut,  and  then  ten  to  one  it 's  wormy,  — 
them  that  sticks  to  the  burr  is  apt  to  be. 

"  However,  loving  Achsah  so  seemed  to  kind  of 
unlock  Love's  feelin's  for  other  people ;  't  was  jest 
like  openin'  the  race  to  a  milldam ;  it  seemed  as 
if  she  could  n't  help  lovin'  everybody,  'specially 
sick  people  and  children.  I  've  seen  her  settin' 
on  her  mother's  steps  with  half  a  dozen  children 
all  over  her,  lettin'  down  her  hair,  kissin'  her  eyes, 
and  cheeks,  and  mouth,  ticklin'  her  throat,  and  all 
in  such  a  gale,  and  all  bawlin'  after  her  when  she 
had  to  go  away.  Then,  when  anybody  took  sick 
in  the  village,  Love  was  always  on  hand,  readin' 
to  'em,  or  sendin'  flowers,  or  makin'  porridge  ;  and 
all  with  such  pretty  kindly  ways,  it  did  folks  more 
good  to  hear  her  speak  than  it  did  to  have  Mis' 
Smith  or  Malviny  send  wine-jelly  or  soup  ;  there  's 


68  LOVE. 

so  much  in  ways.  And  I  don't  know  but  what 
that  verse  of  Scripter  I  was  speakin'  of  along  back 
did  come  to  pass,  after  all,  in  a  certain  kind  of  a 
way  ;  for  everybody  did  love  Love,  only  jest  them 
she  cared  the  most  for.  However,  that 's  gettin' 
ahead  of  the  story. 

"  Why,  Thomas !  there 's  a  real  fair  apple ;  a 
Swaar,  too !  I  guess  you  're  gettin'  too  much 
talk.  I  'd  better  stop  a  spell ;  it 's  considerable  of 
a  chore  to  work  and  hear  an  old  woman  chatter 
too." 

"  Oh,  don't  stop,  Aunt  Huldah,  don't !  I  shall  be 
as  careful  —  but  I  do  want  the  story.  I  wish  I 
had  ever  seen  Love  Brainerd." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to  see  her,  there 's  a 
d'guer'type  of  her  down  to  Harri't  Case's,  where 
she  boarded,  but  it  don't  favor  her  much  ;  it 's 
like  most  all  of  them  pictur's,  dreadful  black 
lookin'.  To  be  sure,  it 's  her  eyes,  and  her  nose, 
and  her  mouth,  and  her  handkerchief  pin,  and  a 
square  collar  I  give  her  myself  when  she  was  mar 
ried,  —  but  for  all  that,  't  ain't  Love  ;  it  has  n't  got 
her  real,  livin',  sweet  look.  I  suppose  it's  like 
her,  for  they  say  the  sun  don't  lie  ;  but  I  should  n't 
never  know  it.  So  about  two  years  after  Achsah 
Koot  come  to  Cranberry,  her  father  died,  and  they 
found  he  'd  give  the  farm,  out  an'  out,  to  her  step 
mother,  and  left  Achsah  only  a  thousand  dollars 
in  the  bank  and  a  home  forever  and  always  in  the 
old'  house  ;  but  that 's  a  queer  way  to  leave  a 
home  to  anybody,  for  how  are  you  goin'  to  tell 


LOVE.  69 

what  it  means  ?  If  Love  had  it  left  to  her  to  give 
anybody,  it  would  have  meant  house,  and  board, 
and  fire,  and  lights,  and  waitin'  on  jest  like  a  real 
home ;  but  Mis'  Root  made  it  out  different.  She 
calkerlated  it  meant  only  Achsah's  bed  room,  and 
was  goin'  to  charge  for  board  and  all  that ;  so 
Achsah  knew  she  meant  to  have  her  pull  up  stakes 
and  go,  for  nobody  could  pay  that  out  of  the  in 
terest  money  from  a  thousand  dollars.  We  was  all 
sorry  for  the  child,  but  she  did-n't  pine  none,  - 
she  was  too  proud.  Mis'  Brainerd  got  her  a  place 
in  the  factory,  and  she  come  to  Cranberry  for 
good,  boardin'  where  she  always  had ;  so  Love 
was  pretty  nigh  set  up.  Well,  things  went  on 
much  as  they  used  to  for  a  while,  only  the  next 
winter  Love  exper'enced  religion  and  joined  the 
church.  It  did  n't  appear  as  if  it  made  so  much 
change  in  her  as  't  would  in  most  folks  ;  but  I  ex 
pect  it  was  more  like  a  growth  to  the  best  part  of 
her  natur',  and  a  leavin'  off  whatever  there  was  in 
it  contrary  to  grace,  —  for  it  can't  be  denied  she 
had  naturally  a  high  sperit ;  but  now  she  grew 
more  and  more  meek,  and  did  n't  never  fret  when 
her  work  was  the  hardest,  but  she  appeared  more 
and  more  sot  upon  Achsah,  and  oneasy  enough 
about  her  speritual  state,  for  she  hadn't  got  no 
more  religion  than  a  poppy-head,  as  she  showed 
plain  enough  by  and  by. 

"  Long  about  the  springtime,  there  come  a  young 
man  from  Colebrook,  James  Whitman  by  name,  — 
a  second  cousin  of  my  husband's  sister-in-law,  —  to 


70  LOVE. 

set  up  for  an  overseer  in  the  factory.  He  boarded 
at  our  house,  and  appeared  to  be  a  likely  feller 
enough,  —  good-lookin'  and  smart,  and  with  real  in- 
sinuatin'  ways,  but  he  was  n't  very  reliable.  Well, 
Achsah  was  gone  back  to  Taunton  for  a  spell ;  her 
own  aunt  was  weakly,  and  she  'd  sent  for  her  to 
come  and  stay  there  with  her  for  company,  while 
her  husband  was  gone  out  West.  So  one  night  I 
was  goin'  to  Mis'  Brainerd's  of  an  errand,  and  the 
deacon  he  had  the  rheumatiz  so  bad  that  James 
stepped  along  with  me  it  was  so  dark,  and  jest  as 
he  got  to  the  door,  we  heerd  Love  singin'.  I  de 
clare  it  did  beat  all  !  I  could  n't  think  of  nothin' 
but  a  brown  thrasher  on  top  of  a  white  birch,  just 
singin'  because  it  could  n't  help  it,  and  thinkin'  of 
nothin'  only  feelin'  the  sun,  and  the  piny  smells, 
and  the  sweet  summer  wind.  James  was  clean  bate. 
'  Aunt  Huldah,'  says  he,  as  spry  as  anything,  '  I  '11 
go  in  and  wait  for  you  ;  I  'd  jest  as  lieves.'  '  Well,' 
sez  I.  I  knew  too  much  to  say  anything  more. 
So  we  come  in,  and  I  made  him  acquainted  with 
all  the  folks  there  was  in  the  keepin'-room,  and 
there  was  several  boarders,  but  he  sot  right  down 
'longside  of  Love,  and  chippered  away  real  brisk. 
'T  was  me  that  had  to  wait  for  him,  I  tell  you  ! 
but  finally  I  got  up  and  went,  and  he  had  to.  Af 
ter  that  he  found  his  way  alone  to  Mis'  Brainerd's 
pretty  often ;  and  though  it  did  n't  all  turn  out  as 
it  oughter,  —  accordin'  as  we  thought  it  oughter,  at 
least,  —  I  do  think  he  was  about  as  fond  of  Love 
in  them  days  as  ever  a  young  feller  was  of  a  girl, 


LOVE.  71 

without  stoppin'  to  think  whether  he  was  in  pious 
earnest  to  marry  her  or  not.  The  worst  of  it  all 
was,  that  Love  was  as  believin'  as  she  was  lovin', 
—  she  had  n't  no  kind  of  guile  about  her  no 
more  'n  a  baby  ;  she  thought  folks  meant  all  they 
said  and  all  they  did,  for  she  was  too  true  and 
faithful  herself  ever  to  mistrust  other  folks ;  and 
she  had  n't  lived  long  enough  to  find  out  the  Scrip- 
ter  fact,  that  all  men  are  liars. 

"  It  was  n't  strange,  neither,  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  that  she  should  like  Jim  Whitman. 
He  was  a  real  likely  young  man  to  look  at,  and  he 
was  jest  as  good  as  pie  to  Love;  he  took  her  to 
walk  off  in  the  woods  ;  he  got  her  posies,  and  win- 
tergreens,  and  red  leaves,  and  all  sorts  o'  fancies ; 
he  lent  her  books,  and  taught  her  new  hymn-tunes ; 
and,  last  of  all,  he  got  round  her  the  cutest  way  a 
man  can  get  round  a  woman  —  makin'  of  her  talk 
religion  to  him,  for  he  was  n't  a  professor ;  and  he 
made  Love  think  she  was  doin'  him  lots  of  good, 
while  all  the  time  she,  poor,  dear,  simple  little  soul, 
was  takiil'  him  deeper  and  deeper  into  her  feelin's 
and  her  prayers,  till,  before  she  know  'd  it,  she  'd 
got  to  love  him  better  even  than  Achsah. 

"  Now,  folks  say  it  ain't  accordin'  to  natur'  for  a 
woman  to  do  so,  that  it 's  unfeminine  and  all  that. 
I  want  to  know  if  it 's  any  worse  in  a  girl  to  love  a 
man  that  gives  her  every  chance  to  love  him,  ex 
cept  askin'  her  in  words,  than  't  is  for  her  to  begin 
straight  off  the  minute  he  says  '  snip,'  when  she 
has  n't  had  no  thoughts  of  him  before  ?  I  tell  you 


72  LOVE. 

I  'd  give  jest  as  much  for  such  love  as  I  would  for 
a  corn-sheller  that  '11  go  when  you  turn  the  crank, 
and  not  before.  Love  Brainerd  was  n't  no  ma 
chine  ;  and,  if  folks  would  only  own  it,  there  ain't 
no  woman  worth  havin'  that  ain't  like  her  about 
them  things.  It 's  womenfolks  that  keep  that 
talk  up,  'cause  they  don't  want  to  own  the  truth  to 
men ;  it 's  enough  to  marry  'em  without  havin' 
'em  jaw  at  you  all  the  time  for  likin'  'em  before 
you  was  asked.  Well,  folks  said  all  over  Cran 
berry  that  James  and  Love  was  keepin'  company  ; 
but  when  they  taxed  her  with  it,  she  turned  as  red 
as  a  beet,  and  said  't  was  n't  no  such  thing,  —  he 
was  a  good  friend  of  her'n,  and  she  wished  they 
would  n't  say  no  more  about  it.  So,  when  they 
see  it  pestered  her,  they  let  it  be,  and  b'lieved  it  all 
the  more. 

"In  about  six  months,  Achsah  came  back  to 
Cranberry,  and  went  to  Mis'  Brainerd's  again ; 
and  of  course  Love  was  dreadful  glad  to  see  her, 
the  more  that  she  had  n't  never  kept  one  of  her 
thoughts  from  Achsah ;  and  though  she  'd  writ  as 
frequent  as  she  could  afford  to,  yet  it  wasn't  like  a 
real  talk.  So  Achsah  had  heerd  enough  about 
Jim  Whitman  to  know  what  he  was,  before  he 
come  round  as  usual  to  spend  the  evenin'.  At 
first  he  did  n't  appear  to  take  to  Achsah  so  much 
as  I  was  afeard  he  would,  for  I  knew  how  much 
more  menfolks  think  of  looks  than  they  do  of  ac 
tions  ;  but  somehow,  though  Love  could  n't  hold 
a  candle  to  Achsah  for  beauty,  she  was  really 


LOVE.  73 

pleasanter  to  look  at  lately,  for  she  'd  got  a  little 
mite  of  red  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  as 
soft  and  bright  as  them  two  little  ponds  be  under 
the  Kidge,  and  her  face  looked  so  restful  and 
happy,  all  the  time  with  a  smile  comin'  and  goin', 
jest  as  if  the  clouds  bio  wed  over  it  the  way  they 
do  on  our  medder  lot  of  a  June  day.  But  Jim 
was  polite  to  Achsah,  and  she  was  pretty  mighty 
to  him  at  first ;  she  was  n't  never  very  simple  in 
her  ways  ;  she  'd  fly  round  like  a  woodcock  when  , 
you  're  close  onto  its  nest,  so  's  to  make  folks  come 
after  her,  and  what  with  her  good  looks,  and  her  - 
wheedlin'  ways,  and  her  keepin'  off  at  first,  and  \ 
then  lettin'  him  get  a  chink,  to  see  into  her  feelin's 
as  't  were,  she  got  an  even  chance  with  Love  in 
Whitman's  idees  before  three  months  was  gone 

by- 

"  Well !  I  see  't  was  as  good  as  over  with  Love, 
but  I  held  my  tongue,  and  Love  she  did  n't  see  no 
thing.  She  heerd  Achsah  laugh  at  him  behind  his 
back  and  before  his  face,  and  she  tried  her  best  to 
make  him  like  Achsah,  because  she  loved  'em  both  ; 
but  he  would  n't  give  in ;  he  'd  tell  her,  jest  as  he 
told  me,  when  I  had  a  spell  of  talk  with  him,  that 
Achsah  did  n't  suit  him,  —  she  was  too  proud  and 
selfish  for  a  woman  —  he  liked  her  looks  and  her 
smartness,  but  he  did  n't  love  her  near  so  well  as 
he  did  Love,  and  nobody  else  did. 

"  I  don't  know  what  did  ail  Achsah ;  she  was 
bound  to  turn  his  head,  I  b'lieve.  She  acted  like  a 
sperit,  first  on  and  then  off,  till  he  was  fairly  off 


74  LOVE. 

the  hooks,  and  finally  acted  as  if  he  did  n't  know 
what  he  did  do  when  she  come  near  him.  After  a 
while,  Love  began  to  think  some  thoughts  about 
it ;  but  she  was  so  good,  she  took  herself  to  task 
for  thinkin'  such  things,  when  they  'd  both  said  so 
much  to  the  contrary  so  many  times,  so  she  stuck 
to  her  text,  and  spared  no  pains  to  set  off  Achsah 
to  Jim,  and  him  to  her,  as  if  some  kind  of  posses 
sion  was  in  her  to  make  her  own  bed  in  a  thorn- 
bush.  At  last,  natur'  was  too  strong  for  her,  she 
could  n't  help  but  see  what  was  goin'  on,  and  she 
grow'd  thin  as  a  shadder,  and  pale  as  a  white-ash 
stick.  Everybody  said  she  was  in  a  decline,  and 
she  looked  it,  for  certain,  but  still  she  kept  about, 
her  dear,  sweet  eyes  lookin'  as  if  the  tears  stood 
in  them  all  the  time,  till  they  got  past  that,  and 
looked  as  though  they  was  dreened  of  all  the  life, 
and  her  lips  sot  in  such  a  wishful,  quiet,  helpless 
kind  of  a  way,  I  used  to  get  my  eyes  full  a-lookin* 
at  her  'crost  the  meetm'-house,  for  I  was  married 
to  a  good  husband  by  that  time,  and  was  as  happy 
as  the  day  is  long,  and  JL  had  great  feelin'  for  folks 
that  was  n't. 

"  Well,  before  long,  Achsah  Koot  comes  to  me, 
and  says  she  :  — 

" '  Mis'  Goodin',  I  'd  like  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  you  !  ' 

"  '  Very  well,'  says  I,  '  it 's  a  good  time,  Achsah, 
—  set  right  down ;  my  chores  is  all  done  up,  and 
husband  he  's  off  in  the  wood-lot.' 

"  So,  after  a  little  spell,  she  sets  to  and  asks  me 


LOVE.  75 

if  I  know'd  anything  about  Jim  Whitman's  folks, 
and  whether  he  was  altogether  reliable  or  not. 
Well,  I  had  n't  nothin'  to  say  against  him,  but 
I  was  chokin'  to  speak  my  mind  to  Achsah. 

" '  So,'  says  I,  '  he  is  going  to  marry  Love 
Brainerd.  I  think  it  's  time  ;  they  've  kept  com 
pany  so  long,  and  Love  is  so  bound  up  in  him.' 

"  She  did  turn  real  red.  '  Oh,  no,  Mis'  Good'in  ! ' 
says  she,  4  you  mistake  ;  the  truth  is,  James  Whit 
man  offered  to  me  last  night,  and,  as  I  have  n't 
any  of  my  own  people,  here,  I  came  to  you  for  a 
little  advice.' 

"  '  Did  you  tell  Love  ? '  says  I,  as  soon  's  I 
could  speak  steady. 

"  *  No,  I  have  n't.  I  thought  it  was  best  not 
to  say  much  about  it  till  it  was  settled.' 

"  For  once  in  my  life,  I  did  let  my  sperit  take 
the  bit  between  its  teeth  and  set  off.  I  was  as 
mad  as  a  hornet,  and  I  had  to  sting.  I  riz  right 
up  from  where  I  set,  and  flung  my  knittin'  onto 
the  stand.  '  Achsah  Root ! '  says  I, '  you  've  done 
a  God-forsaken  thing,  and  I  don't  see  how  you 
have  got  the  face  to  tell  on 't.  There 's  Love 
Brainerd 's  spent  herself  on  you  like  a  little  dog, 
and  you  've  stepped  in  and  wheedled  her  out  of 
the  only  thing  she  could  begrudge  you,  and  broke 
her  heart.  I  don't  say  but  what  Jim  Whitman  's 
reliable  enough  for  you,  —  a  man  that  don't  know 
his  own  mind  is  plenty  good  enough  for  you  to 
manage,  and  I  wish  you  may  get  him  !  Poor, 
dear  Love  ! '  So,  with  that,  I  fetched  a  long  breath, 


76  LOVE. 

for  I  was  like  to  cry,  and  though  Achsah  looked 
poker  and  tongs  at  me,  she  spoke  kind  o'  humble 
when  I  'd  done,  for  I  'd  told  her  bare  truth  for 
once,  and  folks  that  ain't  used  to  it  feel  sort  of 
stunned  when  it  does  perk  up  in  their  faces. 

"  4  Well ! '  says  she,  '  I  can't  help  Love's  liking 
him,  Mis'  Good'in  ;  if  he  likes  me  the  best,  and  I 
like  him,  I  don't  see  as  I  've  done  any  wrong.  I 
don't  want  to  make  him  unhappy.' 

"  '  My  soul ! '  thinks  I,  '  I  wonder  if  the  cretur  is 
a  woman  or  an  iceberg ! '  80  I  spoke  out  loud :  — 

"  '  I  've  said  my  say,  Achsah,  and,  if  you  can 
get  round  your  own  feelin's  about  right  and  wrong 
that  way,  you  can't  get  round  mine.  If  't  was 
worth  battlin'  it  out  with  you,  I  'd  ask  you  how 
things  looked  six  months  ago,  betwixt  him  and 
her ;  but  I  know  you  've  fenced  oft'  your  lot,  so  I 
won't  set  no  more  thistles  in  it  than  there  is  now. 
I  hope  the  Lord  '11  forgive  you,  but  I  can't  feel  to 
yet.' 

"  So,  with  that,  she  says  '  Good-night ! '  and  the 
next  day  I  heerd  she  was  gone  to  Taunton,  and 
in  about  six  weeks  Mis'  Brainerd  brought  me  over 
a  piece  of  the  weddin'  cake,  for  she  had  n't  sus 
pected  nothin'  ;  she  thought  Love  would  n't  never 
have  him,  'cause  he  was  n't  a  professor,  and  Love 
never  laid  her  troubles  on  her  mother's  shoulders. 
I  could  n't  taste  that  cake,  though.  I  giv'  it  to 
Rover,  jest  as  soon  as  her  back  was  turned. 

"  The  next  Sunday  I  see  Love  was  to  church, 
lookin'  as  if  death  was  writ  on  her  face ;  her  lips 


LOVE.  77 

was  set,  and  her  eyes  shiny,  and  she  walked  home 
with  one  of  the  boarders,  talkin'  and  laughin'  too 
loud  for  the  Sabbath.  I  couldn't  feel  to  speak 
with  her,  because  my  voice  was  shaky. 

"  I  heerd  she  said  she  was  well,  but  I  got  her 
over  to  my  house  one  afternoon  about  a  week  after 
Achsah  had  come  back  and  settled  down  t'  other 
side  of  the  mills,  in  Whitman's  house  he  'd  just 
built. 

"  I  sent  for  Love  to  come  and  get  some  yeller 
gourd-seed,  and  when  she  come  into  the  keepin'- 
room  and  I  got  hold  of  her,  I  knew  by  the  feel  of 
her  hot  and  dry  hand  that  she  was  in  a  slow  fever, 
and  I  made  her  own  up  she  was  so  the  biggest  part 
of  the  time.  Well,  I  see  that  she  was  near  about 
heartsick,  so  I  sot  down  by  her,  and  draw'd  her 
head  down  onto  my  shoulder  and  kissed  her.  I  ex 
pect  she  knew  what  I  meant,  for  in  less  'n  a  minute 
she  begun  to  cry,  great,  hot,  slow  tears,  and  then 
a  real  thunder-shower,  —  and  I  let  her.  I  knew 
't  would  cool  her,  and  she  told  me  afterward  them 
was  the  first  tears  she  had  cried.  After  a  spell  she 
stopped,  and  lifted  up  her  head  as  weak  as  a  baby, 
so  I  laid  her  down  on  the  sofa,  and  got  my  knittin', 
and  set  down  by  her,  and  did  n't  say  nothin',  but  I 
hummed  an  old  hymn-tune,  till  I  see  the  steady  look 
comin'  back  to  her  eyes ;  then  sez  I :  '  Love,  you 
set  a  great  deal  by  children,  don't  you  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  I  do,  Mis'  Good'in,'  says  she ;  '  they  're 
about  all  there  is  worth  lovin',  I  think.' 

"  '  Well,'  sez  I  again,  '  Miss  Loomis  is  goin'  to 


78  LOVE. 

leave  the  little  school ;  don't  you  think  you  'd  feel 
better  to  take  it  ?  It  ain't  hard  work,  and  there  's 
singin'  to  do,  and  the  children  all  love  you  ;  I  guess 
you  could  have  it  over  anybody  else's  head.' 

"  I  see  a  little  gleam  a-shinin'  over  her  face. 

"  '  You  're  very  good  to  think  of  it,'  sez  she  sor 
rowfully,  '  but  I  don't  think  the  school  committee 
would  trust  me.' 

" '  Yes,  they  will,  though,  Love,  for  I  heerd  Mr. 
Sykes  recommendin'  of  you  to-day.  I  spoke  to 
him  yesterday,  though  I  said  I  didn't  know  as 
you  'd  be  willin'.' 

"  So  she  riz  up,  and  put  her  arms  round  my  neck 
and  kissed  me,  and  we  was  good  friends  from  that 
time  forrard,  always. 

"  Miss  Loomis  was  n't  to  leave  for  a  month  or  so, 
and  I  kep'  Love  with  me  all  I  could.  I  saw  she 
was  gettin'  into  a  poor  way ;  she  did  n't  believe 
what  anybody  said ;  she  mistrusted  everybody's 
actions,  and  was  as  jealous  of  folks'  words  and 
looks  as  if  the  whole  world  was  set  to  work  to  hate 
and  deceive  her.  Poor  child !  it  went  to  my  soul 
to  think  how  she  'd  eat  the  tree  of  knowledge,  and 
puckered  her  mouth  all  up,  and  I  did  feel  hard  on 
them  that  giv'  it  to  her,  after  all  her  lovin'  ways  to 
them !  However,  I  knew  't  was  n't  no  use  to  row 
ag'inst  the  tide,  so  I  said  nothin',  but  I  used  to 
get  her  to  drive  me  off  when  the  deacon  was  too 
busy,  over  to  Scranton,  iind  Poleville,  and  round 
the  woods,  to  all  the  sightly  places  there  is  round 
here ;  our  old  horse  was  real  steady,  and  I  'd  take 


LOVE,  79 

the  baby,  and  after  a  little  I  would  give  her  the 
child  to  hold,  sayin'  my  arms  was  tired,  and  I  'd 
drive.  I  knew  it  was  better  than  medicine  to  her 
when  I  see  them  little  pink  fingers  curled  round 
her'n,  and  the  small  face  smilin'  up  into  her  eyes 
till  she  could  n't  help  to  smile  back  again.  Some 
times  I  'd  lay  it  in  an  oneasy  way,  so  she  'd  have 
to  lift,  and  coax,  and  kiss  it,  and  I  knew  when 
she  'd  got  it  hugged  up  to  her,  and  had  cooed  it 
half  asleep,  so  's  she  could  n't  stir  without  wakin' 
it,  that  she  would  be  content  if  we  was  drivin'  all 
day. 

"  So,  by  help  of  grace,  and  her  own  lovin'  heart, 
and  time,  and  steady  work,  before  she  'd  kept  a 
quarter's  school,  I  see  she  was  gettin'  some  of  the 
lines  rubbed  off  her  lonesome-lookin'  forehead  ; 
and  after  a  year  had  gone  by  she  'd  got  to  be  more 
like  Love  Brainerd  again  than  I  'd  ever  thought 
she  would  be.  However,  I  mistrusted  that  she 
could  n't  never  care  for  Achsah  again,  for  I  could 
n't,  I  am  sure  —  but  Love  was  better  than  I.  I 
don't  know  now  how  it  first  come  about,  but  after 
a  while  I  heerd  she  was  over  there  now  and  then, 
and  when  Achsah's  first  baby  was  took  sick  Love 
watched  it  and  nursed  it  till  it  wrastled  through ; 
and  things  looked  as  if  there  had  n't  been  no  dif 
ference  between  'em  ever.  Somehow  I  was  all 
amazed,  and  I  wanted  to  know  how  it  was.  I  knew 
well  enough  how  Achsah  come  round  :  she  was 
clear  selfish  ;  she  did  n't  care  for  nobody  else,  so 
long  as  all  went  pretty  straight  for  her  pleasure  ; 


80  LOVE. 

but  just  so  soon  as  she  was  in  trouble  she  could 
be  as  good  and  lovin'  as  you  please,  and  Jim 
Whitman  was  another  of  her  sort ;  but  Love's  side 
on  't  puzzled  me.  So  I  says  to  her  one  day,  as  she 
was  settin'  on  my  doorstep,  with  my  little  Eben  in 
her  arms  :  '  Love,'  says  I,  '  do  you  care  for  Achsah 
Whitman  at  all  now  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  I  do,  Mis'  Goodwin,'  says  Love,  lookin' 
up  at  me  with  eyes  as  clear  as  Eben's,  and  as  deep 
as  a  well.  '  I  love  her  dearly.' 

"  '  As  much  as  ever  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  but  not  as  well.  I  don't  respect  her, 
but  I  love  her.  I  can't  help  it.' 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  clear  beat,  4 1  think  that  is 
grace ! ' 

" '  No,  it  ain't,'  says  Love  ;  '  it  is  most  all  na 
ture.  I  suppose  it  did  help  me  to  forgive  her  to 
think  how  God  forgave  me,  but  I  loved  her  before, 
always.' 

"  Then  there  come  a  soft  look  into  her  eyes,  and 
she  kind  of  drooped  'em,  and  I  see  a  bright  little 
drop  on  -her  long  eye-winkers,  —  '  And  I  love  her 
enough  to  be  glad  she  is  happy,  anyway.' 

"  Thinks  I,  '  Your  mother  gev  you  the  right 
name,'  but  I  said  nothin'. 

"  About  this  time  Alonzo  Masters,  a  young 
man  who  'd  taught  singin'  to  Taunton,  come  over 
to  Cranberry,  to  set  up  a  school  there.  He  was 
a  pitiful  cretur ;  for  when  he  was  but  a  babe  he 
took  the  smallpox,  and  lost  his  eyesight  for  good  •, 
and,  besides,  he  always  enjoyed  poor  health  after 


LOVM.  81 

that ;  and  now  his  mother,  who  'd  always  cared  for 
him,  had  died,  and  he  didn't  want  to  stay  to 
Taunton  no  more,  but  come  to  Mis'  Brainerd's  to 
board.  There  he  tried  to  do  for  himself,  but  he 
made  a  poor  hand  at  it,  and  Love,  with  her  kindly, 
helpful  ways,  could  n't  keep  from  waitin'  on  him  no 
more  'n  a  brook  can  keep  from  runnin'  down  hill ; 
besides,  she  took  lessons  of  him,  and  he  'd  set  and 
listen  to  her  voice  as  if  he  was  drinkin'  it  in,  till 
he  most  forgot  to  teach  her. 

"  Things  went  on  so  for  quite  a  spell ;  and,  as 
lookers-on  see  most  of  the  game,  I  see  pretty  soon 
that  he  was  hangin'  on  to  Love  for  the  breath  of 
his  life.  He  was  n't  never  easy  away  from  her. 
He  fretted  like  a  sick  baby  when  she  went  off  to 
school,  and  he  kept  waitin'  for  her  by  the  door  as 
steady  as  the  hop-vine  'longside  of  him.  One  day  I 
come  along  and  stepped  in  to  see  Mis'  Brainerd ; 
and,  finding  him  alone  on  the  doorsill,  I  set  down 
for  a  bit  of  talk,  and  just  then  Achsah  Whitman 
passed,  and  nodded.  She  looked  real  well  that 
day ;  and  after  she  got  by  says  I :  — 

" '  Well,  you  're  real  pretty,  that 's  a  fact ! ' 

"'Who?'  says  he. 

" '  Mis'  Whitman,  —  she  that  jest  went  past  the 
door.' 

"  '  Not  anywhere  as  pretty  as  Love,  though,  Mis' 
Goodwin,'  says  he,  as  peart  as  the  primer,  and  kind 
of  triumphant-like. 

" '  Why,  Mr.  Masters  ! '  says  I,  '  what  makes  you 
say  so  ?  ' 


82  LOVE. 

" '  Because  I  hear  Love's  voice,  Mis'  Goodwin, 
and  I  know  she  must  be  lovely,  she  speaks  so.' 

"  4  Well,  I  declare,  you  're  right,'  says  I  ;  but  I 
did  pity  the  poor  cretur,  for  I  never  thought  Love 
would  trust  or  care  for  a  man  again.  However,  I 
don't  make  nor  mar  in  love-scrapes,  —  I  'd  as  soon 
try  to  help  a  bird  build  its  nest ;  so  I  left  things 
to  Providence,  and  they  got  took  care  of  as  they 
generally  do. 

"  About  a  month  after  that,  Love  come  over  to 
my  house  one  night,  and  she  got  me  out  into  the 
stoop,  and  put  her  head  in  my  lap,  and,  says  she 
softly,  but  very  plain  :  — 

"  '  Mis'  Goodwin,  I  'm  going  to  marry  Mr.  Mas 
ters.' 

"  4  Why,  Love  Brainerd  ! '  says  I,  4  you  don't  tell 
me !  My  dear  child,  for  mercy's  sakes,  do  you 
know  what  you  are  a-doin'?  Do  you  love  him 
as '  —  She  broke  right  in  :  — 

" '  I  know,  I  know,  but  I  never  shall  love  any 
body  that  way  again ;  and  I  do  feel  so  sorry  for 
him,  —  he  's  sick,  and  blind,  and  lonely.  I  wonder 
who  would  ever  take  care  of  him,  if  I  should  leave 
him  alone  ?  I  feel  as  if  God  had  sent  hizn  to  me, 
and  spoken  about  it.' 

"  '  But,  Love,  it 's  a  dreadful  thing  to  get  such  an 
idea  into  your  head,  if  you  don't  love  him.  It  ain't 
right.  You  can't  get  away  if  once  you  marry  him, 
think  of  that ! ' 

" 4 1  don't  want  to  get  away,  dear.  Nobody 
cares  for  him  but  me,  and  I  should  make  him  so 


LOVE.  83 

happy.  What  am  I  good  for  but  to  spend  and  be 
spent  for  somebody  ?  and  who  needs  it  more  than 
he?' 

"  Well,  I  could  n't  say  no  more,  —  I  felt  kind  of 
solemn.  She  was  too  near  like  the  folks  in  the 
Revelations  that  was  clothed  in  white  garments,  for 
me  to  trouble  her  thoughts  with  the  wisdom  of  this 
world ;  so  I  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  ;  and, 
when  she  went  away,  I  could  n't  feel  to  fret  over 
it ;  for  if  ever  anybody  was  in  the  Lord's  keepin', 
I  knew  she  was. 

"  After  a  few  months  they  was  married,  and  it 
come  about  just  as  I  did  n't  darst  to  hope  it  would. 
Love  was  the  completest  woman  that  ever  I  see, 
and,  beginnin'  with  pity,  she  was  as  tender  of 
'Lonzo  as  if  he  'd  been  a  little  baby  ;  and  it  ain't 
in  any  real  woman's  heart,  'specially  such  a  one  as 
Love,  to  see  anything  hanging  onto  her  for  dear 
life  without  learnin'  to  love  it.  Beside,  she  was 
lonely  enough  before,  —  she  had  n't  anybody  to 
love  her  more  'n  all  the  world  put  together,  —  and 
she  see  Achsah  Whitman  flourishin'  like  a  green 
bay -tree,  so's  she  couldn't  well  help  wonderin' 
why  one  should  be  taken  and  t'  other  left,  and  that 
cross  was  hard  to  bear,  I  expect,  though  she  did  n't 
never  say  nothin'.  But  now  she  acted  for  all  the 
world  like  my  scarlet  runner  that  Old  Red  trod 
acrost  one  day  when  the  boys  left  the  gate  open, 
and  crushed  it  down  into  the  mud  ;  and  there  it  lay, 
kind  of  tuckered  out,  till  one  of  the  feelers  got 
blowed  against  the  pickets,  and  cotched  hold,  and 


84  LOVE. 

lifted  itself  up,  ring  by  ring,  till  the  whole  fence- 
post  was  red  with  its  blows,  and  covered  with  the 
green  leaves. 

"  Love  loved  him  a  sight  better  than  ever  she 
did  Jim  Whitman.  He  was  a  better  man.  His 
'flictions  had  made  him  pious,  and  he  was  nigh 
about  as  good  as  a  sick  and  fretted  man  can  be, 
and  he  was  n't  never  cross  to  Love  nor  peevish ;  he 
loved  her  a  heap  too  much  to  hurt  her,  anyway. 
He  thought  she  was  most  good  enough  to  say  his 
prayers  to,  and  she  was  n't  never  willin'  to  be  out 
of  his  sight.  So  the  Lord  rewarded  her  in  this 
world ;  for,  though  most  folks  did  n't  think  't  was 
any  reward,  I  knew  it  was  the  nearest  to  heaven 
to  her  to  be  loved  so,  and  to  love  back  again. 

"  They  lived  there  to  Mis'  Brainerd's  twenty 
year,  she  bein'  his  eyes  and  life,  and  he  bein'  like 
her  heart,  till  she  took  sick,  last  fall,  of  a  low 
fever,  and  died.  I  was  with  her  the  last  night, 
and  he  too. 

"  I  did  wish  he  could  'a'  seen  those  eyes.  They 
looked  after  him  as  if  the  Lord  had  touched  'em, 
so 's  they  could  speak  when  she  couldn  't.  She 
died  a-lookin'  at  him  so,  with  both  her  hands  in 
his'n,  and  he  sot  there  six  hours  after  she  was 
gone  to  glory,  and  I  guess  she  went  right  off. 

"  Tom,  give  me  some  more  apples !  Where  in 
creation  is  my  silk  handkerchief  ?  I  declare !  I 
thought  I  hed  done  cryin'  for  Love  Brainerd  !  " 


ODD  MISS  TODD. 

HER  father  was  odd  before  her.  Barzillai  Todd 
was  one  of  those  men  who  crop  out  from  the  general 
level  of  other  people  like  a  bowlder  from  the  soft 
green  surface  of  a  meadow. 

He  had  a  good  farm,  but  he  lived  on  it  as  Sel 
kirk  lived  on  his  island.  It  was  but  half  tilled ; 
he  never  cut  the  huckleberry  bushes  or  ploughed 
them  up,  for  he  ate  little  besides  the  hard  yet  juicy 
fruit  while  they  lasted. 

Then  no  persuasion  would  induce  him  to  sell  the 
woodland  which  rose  all  about  his  lonely  brown 
house.  The  trees  were  his  congeners ;  he  knew 
them  individually.  It  was  his  delight  to  lie  at 
length  under  their  aerial  canopy,  and  see  the  golden 
flecks  of  sunshine  dance  athwart  their  perfect  grace 
and  verdure,  or  to  watch  for  bits  of  blue  sky,  sap 
phire  blue,  "  like  the  body  of  heaven  in  its  clear 
ness,"  revealed  by  the  parting  of  a  wind-swept 
bough.  The  light  susurrus  of  stealing  breezes 
made  the  purest  music  to  his  ear,  and  he  loved  to 
watch  the  thousand  quaint  insects  that  inhabited: 
moss  and  bark,  to  trace  the  busy  life  of  anthills,  to 
track  beetles  on  their  laborious  journeys,  or  to  see* 
how  deftly  the  wren  wove  her  mystic  nest,  and  the 
partridge  made  of  her  pale  eggs  an  open  secret. 


86  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

He  was  no  farmer,  as  all  Dorset  knew.  Hay 
just  enough  for  his  two  lonely  Ayrshire  cows  was 
all  he  cut,  and  root  crops  were  unknown  to  his 
fields  ;  he  raised  acres  of  strawberries,  and,  being 
a  vegetarian,  used  them  all  their  season,  selling 
the  vast  surplus  for  money  to  buy  books  ;  corn  he 
grew  in  abundance,  for  meal  was  a  necessity,  and 
waving  crops  of  rye ;  a  long  range  of  beehives 
gave  him  honey,  and  he  had  a  wild  theory  that 
honey  was  the  cure-all,  and  that  a  man  who  had 
honey  at  hand  and  ate  fruit  in  its  season  would  live 
to  an  indefinite  period. 

Flowers  did  not  come  into  his  scheme  of  life,  but 
flowers  clustered  about  his  brown  house  neverthe 
less,  for  he  married  late  in  life  a  pretty  girl,  below 
him  in  social  position,  but  so  devoted,  intelligent, 
and  lovely  that  in  his  silent  fashion  he  worshiped 
her  while  she  lived,  and  was  constant  to  her  mem 
ory  when  she  died,  leaving  him  only  one  solace,  a 
girl  of  three,  and  one  monument  in  profuse  roses 
and  honeysuckles  at  his  door.  Among  the  other 

f  oddities  of  the  man  was  his  absorbing  passion  for 
books.     He  bought  every  volume  he  could  lay  his 
\  hands  on  in  days  when  books  cost  money. 

Especially  did  he  adore  Shakespeare,  and  above 
almost  all  his  characters  he  admired  the  lovely  lady 
of  the  "  Winter's  Tale,"  and  therefore,  in  spite 
of  his  wife's  gentle  remonstrance,  their  poor  child 
figured  in  the  family  annals  as  Hermione  Todd,  a 
"concatenation  accordingly"  which  use  and  time 
resented,  and  few  people  in  Dorset  ever  knew  that 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  87 

"  Miny  "  Todd  had  any  other  name  than  this  dis 
syllable. 

After  his  wife's  death  Barzillai  Todd  lived  a 
stranger  life  than  ever.  He  hired  an  old  deaf 
cousin  to  do  his  housework,  instructing  her  himself 
in  all  the  mysteries  of  rye  mush,  "  whole-flour " 
bread,  suppawn,  samp,  and  other  doubtful  corn- 
bread  dainties,  which  were  only  rendered  eatable 
by  lavish  supplies  of  cream  and  fresh  milk.  For 
clothes  little  Miny  depended  on  Hepsy's  tasteless 
selection  and  clumsy  fingers,  and  being  a  plain, 
dark,  shy  child,  perhaps  looked  as  well  in  the  dull 
cotton  fabrics  and  Shaker  sun-scoops  that  were  her 
uniform  attire  as  in  more  dainty  and  warmer-hued 
garments.  Education  she  had  none,  in  the  ordi 
nary  sense  of  the  word :  she  learned  how  to  read 
in  a  desultory  way,  and  made  out  a  cramped  hand 
writing  for  herself  by  the  time  she  was  twelve 
years  old.  But  it  was  another  of  her  father's 
theories  that  women  ought  not  to  be  educated. 
Nature,  however,  as  nature  often  does,  defied  his 
opinion.  Though  Miny  never  went  to  school  or  to 
church,  and  taught  herself  to  read  and  write,  she 
found  her  way  to  the  miscellaneous  library  that 
lay  heaped  on  chairs,  bureaus,  tables,  even  the 
floor,  everywhere  in  the  old  house,  except  in  the 
kitchen  and  one  sunny  corner  room  reserved  by 
Hepsy  for  her  sewing  and  rare  company.  There 
were,  no  doubt,  good  materials  for  a  liberal  edu 
cation,  in  these  books,  but,  taken  at  haphazard, 
they  were  devoured  on  principles  of  natural  selec- 


88  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

tion,  and  the  dry  treatises  thrown  aside  as  they 
came  uppermost ;  but  the  histories,  travels,  and, 
most  eagerly  of  all,  the  biographies,  were  read 
over  and  over  till  Miny  knew  them  by  heart. 
There  were  no  novels  or  poems,  except  Shakespeare, 
in  the  whole  collection ;  these  Barzillai  Todd  held 
in  the  highest  contempt,  and  it  was  to  the  absence 
of  all  imaginative  fiction,  except  as  it  is  found  more 
or  less  in  biography,  that  the  girl  owed  her  strong 
common  sense  and  her  sturdy  persistence  in  view 
ing  things  and  people  through  its  medium. 

From  her  rambles  at  her  father's  heels  —  and  she 
followed  him  everywhere  with  the  mute  fidelity  of 
a  dog  —  she  learned  to  know  and  love  all  wild 
things,  and  inheriting  from  her  dead  mother  a  real 
passion  for  flowers,  she  soon  made  a  garden  for  her 
self  on  the  sunny  slope  before  her  windows  that 
would  have  delighted  a  botanist ;  for  every  flower 
that  sprung  of  itself  in  wood  or  field  she  trans 
planted  thither,  and  with  the  reciprocal  affection 
flowers  show  to  those  who  love  them,  they  all  lived 
and  blossomed. 

In  this  way,  like  one  of  her  own  orchids,  Miny 
Todd  grew  up  to  her  womanhood.  Lovers  never 
came  near  her,  and  she  had  no  friends.  Dorset 
people  did  not  offer  civilities  to  her  father,  because 
he  did  not  want  or  need  them.  Neither  he  nor 
Miny  had  ever  been  ill  in  their  lives,  and  when  his 
wife  died  of  sudden  congestion  of  the  lungs,  he 
had  resented  help  and  sympathy  from  every  one, 
and  shut  himself  in  his  lair  as  a  beast  of  the  forest 
might  have  done  when  sharply  wounded. 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  89 

A  man  in  New  England  who  gives  no  honor  to 
church  or  school  is  ostracized  at  once,  and  Bar- 
zillai  Todd's  position  toward  these  bulwarks  of  the 
state  set  him  quite  outside  the  pale  of  Dorset  soci 
ety.  He  did  not  care  for  this ;  he  was  a  lazy,  self 
ish  dreamer,  without  natural  energy  or  acquired 
industry ;  a  few  thousand  dollars  which  his  father 
left  him  —  for  he  came  of  a  highly  respectable  and 
once  wealthy  New  England  family  —  he  had  had 
the  prudence  to  invest  safely,  and  this  income  was 
enough,  with  the  aid  of  his  strawberry  patch,  to  sup 
ply  his  needs.  His  luxuries  nature  purveyed  for 
him,  and  life  lapsed  from  him  as  the  day  died  out 
of  heaven,  easily  and  unlamented.  He  came  in 
tired  one  day,  lay  down  on  the  rough  chintz-cov 
ered  sofa,  from  which  he  pushed  a  pile  of  books, 
and  fell  asleep,  never  to  waken. 

Miny  was  thirty  years  old  when  this  happened, 
and  her  father  eighty.  It  was  time  old  Barzy 
Todd  died,  Dorset  people  thought,  and  a  few 
kindly  souls  went  out  to  the  farm  to  help  at  his 
funeral,  for  Miriy  had  not  a  relative  in  the  world. 

Miny  had  inherited  her  mother's  warm  feeling, 
and  her  biographical  studies  had  awakened  in  her 
mind  a  strong  wish  to  know  other  people.  Her 
father  had  but  one  love  in  his  strange  gray  life, 
and  when  that  died,  with  his  wife,  his  capacity  for 
loving  died  too ;  but  Miny  had  a  broader  nature, 
and  when  she  found  that  the  income  which  had 
supported  her  father  was  all  her  own,  she  rented 
the  farm  to  an  energetic  young  man,  bought  a  lit- 


90  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

tie  house  in  Dorset,  and  moving  all  her  wild  flow 
ers  to  the  small  green  yard  in  front  of  her  new 
home,  and  the  white  roses  and  fragrant  honey 
suckle  her  mother  had  planted  to  either  side  of  the 
door,  she  transplanted  Hepsy  also,  with  the  best 
of  the  old  furniture,  and  began  at  this  late  hour 
*  to  make  friends  and  to  know  the  world,  —  as  it 
wagged  in  Dorset,  at  least. 

Of  course  the  minister  called  on  her  at  once, 
and  great  was  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fry's  astonish 
ment  to  find  a  real  and  practical  heathen  in  the 
very  midst  of  his  flock ;  he  hurried  home  to  his 
study,  and  brought  her  immediately  a  Bible,  which 
she  received  with  gratitude,  and  set  herself  to  read 
with  the  avidity  that  always  possessed  her  at  sight 
of  a  fresh  book. 

It  would  be  incredible  to  an  average  sinner, 
hardened,  as  one  may  use  the  phrase,  by  continuous 
preaching  and  teaching,  to  hear,  could  it  be  de- 
,  scribed,  what  an  effect  this  book  had  upon  Miss 
"Todd.  The  Word,  indeed,  fell  into  a  good  and 
;honest  heart,  and  was  received  with  the  simplicity 
(and  faith  of  a  child.  Mr.  Fry,  who  continued  his 
pastoral  calls,  was  put  to  his  wits'  end  to  under 
stand  the  mental  and  moral  position  of  this  queer 
woman. 

She  was  converted,  he  could  not  doubt,  but  the 

process  was  so  peculiar,  so  heterodox,  that  he  could 

:not  perceive  it  to  be  a  genuine  conversion.     She 

,ldid  not  suffer  from  deep  sense  of  sin,  for  she  had 

yaot  sinned  as  yet,  for  want  of  temptation.     Her  ex- 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  91 

perience  of  life  was  so  strange  that  her  experience 
of  religion  was  equally  unexampled  ;  but  perceiving 
the  one  fact  that  Miny  Todd  earnestly  desired  to 
live  according  to  the  precepts  of  the  Bible,  and  was 
ready  to  follow  Christ  as  her  leader  and  king,  the 
deacons  of  Dorset  church,  never  very  rigid  in  their 
theology,  this  being  an  inland  village  far  removed 
from  the  great  centres  of  orthodoxy,  consented  to 
let  Miss  Todd  slip  easily  through  her  examination, 
and  join  the  church  according  to  her  desire.  It 
was  a  long  time,  and  the  process  would  be  tedious 
of  detail,  before  Miss  Miny  understood  the  people 
about  her  or  the  life  they  led.  She  herself  was 
busy  always,  trying  to  live  up  to  her  profession  of 
religion  ;  but  the  rest  had  something  else  to  do, 
and  put  off  their  spiritual  experience  till  Sunday. 
There  were  children,  haying,  harvesting,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing  for  her  neighbors  to  live  through  ; 
and  all  the  more  that  she  visited  the  sick,  fed  thek 
hungry,  and  clothed  the  naked,  they  held  them-\ 
selves  excused  from  such  duty.  Their  gossip; 
grated  on  her  charity  of  soul,  their  little  mean-  j 
nesses  seemed  to  her  unworthy  of  beings  who  had 
an  eternity  at  stake,  and  her  heart  raged  at  the 
cruelties  of  domestic  life  which  she  could  not  but 
see  among  those  about  her. 

If  she  had  been  less  candid  and  simple-minded 
than  she  was,  she  would  have  turned  bitter  and 
scornful ;  but  she  was  always  ready  to  learn,  to 
wait,  and  to  love,  so  that  if  knowledge  saddened,  it 
also  strengthened  her,  arid  what  she  deplored  she 


92  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

directly  tried  to  improve.  Add  to  this  disposition 
great  plainness  of  speech,  —  such  plainness  as  a 

'  real  child  may  use  and  only  provoke  a  smile,  while 
custom  and  convention  forbid  it  to  grown  peo 
ple,  —  and  it  may  be  imagined  that  at  thirty-five 
Miss  Todd,  ready  for  all  good  works,  was  yet  no 
favorite  in  Dorset ;  and  but  for  the  fact  that  the 
Dorset  and  Albany  Kailroad  had  bought  a  hitherto 
unproductive  part  of  the  farm  for  track  and  sta- 

•  tion,  and  paid  a  good  price  for  it,  and  another  cor 
ner  had  been  sold  to  a  speculator,  who  fancied  he 
had  discovered  a  mine  therein  (though  he  only 
found  a  pocket  of  hematite  ore  which  barely  re 
paid  his  outlay),  —  all  this  making  Miny  a  lady  of 
"  means,"  as  Dorset  people  say,  —  she  would  have 
been  as  unpopular  as  heart  could  desire.  But 
money  appeals  to  the  hearts  of  all  mankind,  — 

"  Age  cannot  wither  it,  nor  custom  stale." 

When  Dorset  knew  that  Miss  Todd  owned 
thirty  thousand  dollars  besides  her  fifty-acre  farm, 
it  tacitly  agreed  that  she  could  do  and  say  what 
she  pleased.  Probably  she  would  have  done  so  if 
poverty  had  been  her  lot  in  life,  yet  she  would  not 
have  done  it  with  impunity ;  but  her  hand  sweet 
ened  her  speech,  for  it  was  always  full  of  timely 
gifts. 

Still,  even  her  benevolence  did  not  always  offset 
her  honesty.  The  Reverend  Septimus  Clark,  a 
fine  young  clergyman  from  New  York,  who  was 
traveling  through  Vermont,  and,  stopping  at  Dor- 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  93 

set  one  Sunday,  preached  for  Mr.  Fry,  will  never 
till  his  dying  day  forget  his  encounter  with  Miss 
Miny.  He  had  preached  what  Mrs.  Deacon  Nor 
ton  pronounced  "  a  most  be-a-utiful  discourse,"  as 
full  of  flowers  as  a  greenhouse,  liberally  sprinkled 
with  poetry,  gently  "  picked  out "  with  sentiment, 
and  here  and  there  a  little  natural  religion  put  in, 
like  cloves  into  a  baked  ham,  more  for  ornament 
than  use.  It  was  a  sermon  a  pagan  or  a  Brahmin 
would  have  admired  just  as  much  as  Mrs.  Deacon 
Norton,  but  it  stirred  the  depths  of  Miss  Miny's 
soul.  Her  great  honest  gray  eyes  darkened,  flashed, 
and  at  last  dimmed  with  tears  as  she  fixed  them 
on  the  elegant  youth  supposed  to  be  preaching  the 
gospel ;  and  when  he  ceased  to  discourse,  and, 
pronouncing  a  graceful  benediction,  came  down 
from  the  pulpit,  he  was  surprised  to  see  a  short, 
dark,  resolute-looking  woman,  with  a  pair  of  re 
proachful  eyes  fixed  on  him,  draw  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  at  last  plant  herself  in  the  middle  aisle 
just  in  his  way. 

He  stopped,  courteously,  to  let  her  move  aside  : 
but  she  never  stirred,  only  looked  straight  at  him, 
and  said,  "  Do  you  believe  the  Bible  ?  " 

Mr.  Clark  was  still  more  surprised,  but  an 
swered  civilly,'  "  Certainly  I  do." 

"  You  believe,"  she  went  on,  "  that  all  these  folks 
you  have  been  preaching  to  will  be  lost  eternally 
if  they  don't  believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  ?  " 

The  Reverend  Septimus  stared  blankly,  yet  her 
f  "  glittering  eye  "  compelled  response.  "  Why, 
1  yes,  madam  :  I  am  orthodox." 


94  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

"  And  knowin'  that,  knowin'  they  will  never  see 
you  again,  't  is  n't  likely,  and  you  have  n't  had  but 
one  chance  to  talk  to  'em  and  tell  what  responsible 
bein's  they  are,  you  've  been  and  talked  all  this 
stuff  about  roses  and  clouds  and  brooks  and  things 
'  to  dyin'  souls !  You  poor  deluded  man,  what  is 
the  Lord  goin'  to  say  to  you  in  that  Day  ?  " 

The  Keverend  Mr.  Clark  choked ;  he  fairly  be 
came  faint  for  a  moment,  for  under  his  elegance 
and  florality  he  had  a  conscience,  and  a  somewhat 
dormant  but  living  Christian  faith  ;  but  he  was 
not  man  enough  to  say,  "  Thank  you ;  "  he  only 
pushed  by  Miss  Miny,  and  asked  Mr.  Fry,  who 
was  waiting  for  him  at  the  door,  who  the  woman 
was  who  had  stopped  him. 

14  Oh,  that  is  odd  Miss  Todd,"  said  Mr.  Fry,  in 
such  a  matter-of-course  way  that  Mr.  Clark  did  not 
feel  it  necessary  to  mention  her  rebuke.  But 
Miss  Miny  "  builded  better  than  she  knew  ;  "  the 
youth  never  uttered  such  idle  words  again  ;  he 
recognized  the  situation  and  accepted  it,  which  is 
the  key  of  all  true  life,  and  became  one  of  the  most 
fervid  and  spiritual  preachers  of  his  sect,  though 
he  never  saw  Miss  Todd  again. 

Deacon  Norton,  too,  winced  under  her  lash,  all 
the  more  that  he  was  not  sure  his  views  of  the 
matter  were  right.  He  felt  called  upon  to  deal 
with  Miss  Todd  because  she  did  not  attend  on 
weekly  prayer-meetings,  and  paid  her  a  visit  for 
this  purpose. 

Miss  Miny  waited  calmly  till  he  had  delivered 
his  message,  and  her  turn  came. 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  95 

"  Look    here,  deacon,"  she  said  with  quiet  en 
ergy,  "  to  begin  with,  I  don't  see  any  special  obliga 
tion  required  in  Scripter  to  have  prayer  meetings. ! 
It  says  there  folks  must  enter  into  their  closets, 
and  be  secret  about  their  praying." 

"  But  what  does  Scripter  say  about  two  or  three 
gatherin'  together  ?  " 

"  Well,  that 's  another  matter ;  that  says  if 
they  '11  agree  about  something  special  to  ask.  I 
should  b'lieve  in  that  if  there  was  a  fever  in  Dor 
set,  or  a  drought,  or  a  big  flood,  or  a  time  of  wick 
edness  being  peculiar  mighty  ;  but  you  won't  never 
make  me  believe  that  '  two  or  three '  means  twenty, 
or  that  agreeing  about  a  thing  to  ask  for  means 
the  broadcast  sort  of  fashion  you  pray.  Why,  I 
did  go  once,  and  I  was  altogether  taken  down. 
The  first  man  got  up,  and  instead  of  praying,  he 
told  the  Lord  the  longest  string  about  Dorset  peo 
ple  you  ever  heard,  —  how  bad  they  were ;  and 
then  he  rambled  off  about  the  creation,  and  the 
state  of  the  heathen.  Deacon,  I  know  that  man. 
I  know  he  's  as  cross  as  a  tiger  to  his  wife,  his 
boys  hide  when  they  see  him  coming,  and  he  's 
mean  enough  to  take  double  toll  out  of  a  widow's 
meal  bag.  If  he  stopped  reviling  his  neighbors, 
and  lamentin'  over  the  isles  of  the  South,  and 
tried  to  example  after  Jesus  Christ,  and  be  a 
4  livin'  epistle,'  as  Paul  says,  I  think  he  'd  do  better. 
No  ;  1  sha'n't  come  to  any  more  prayer-meetings. 
I  believe  in  less  prayin'  and  more  practicing ;  " 
and  with  a  flush  on  her  dark  cheek,  and  a  light  in 


96  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

her  deep  eyes  that  told  how  earnest  her  feeling 
was  on  the  subject,  Miss  Miny  took  up  the  stock 
ing  she  was  knitting  for  an  idiot  boy  in  the  poor- 
house,  and  clicked  her  needles  faster  that  ever. 

Deacon  Norton  uttered  a  horrified  groan,  and 
shook  his  hoary  head  ominously  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold ;  but  he  was  a  reflective  man,  and  Miss 
Miny's  ideas  stirred  a  certain  reformative  convic 
tion  in  his  mind.  He  did  not  thereafter  refrain 
from  prayer-meetings,  for  it  had  been  born  and 
educated  into  him  that  they  were  a  necessity  of 
Christian  life,  but  his  prayers  put  on  a  new  style. 
He  was  earnest  in  asking  for  spiritual  gifts  rather 
than  in  conveying  information  to  his  audience  ; 
and  many  an  astonished  soul  discovered  for  the 
first  time  through  those  fervent  petitions  that  re 
ligion  is  a  matter  of  week-day  life  rather  than  Sun 
day  solemnity. 

Scandal,  too,  found  little  mercy  at  Miss  Miny's 
door.  There  was  a  woman  in  Dorset  who 

"  Made  Ijer  enjoyment 
And  only  employment" 

in  retailing  some  real  or  unreal  story  to  somebody's 
disadvantage.  Mrs.  Peek  was  a  little  woman,  with 
an  indefinite  sort  of  mouth,  a  pale  face,  and  dead 
black  eyes,  with  a  furtive  glitter  that  betrayed  a 
lurking  imp  hidden  in  their  dark  pools.  She 
was  a  mini,  softspoken  woman,  but  guileful  and 
gliding  as  a  snake.  Miss  Miny  never  visited  her, 
though  they  met  often  at  sewing  circles,  and  it  was 
at  one  of  these  social  occasions  that  the  venomous 


ODD-  MISB   TOD1).  97 

little  creature  began  to  retail  some  of  her  malice 
to  Mrs.  Norton,  who  was  sitting  sewing  at  one  end 
of  a  sheet,  with  Miss  Miny  at  the  other.  It  was 
only  a  version  of  the  old  story,  —  a  girl  to  whom  a 
man  had  offered  marriage,  and  then  changed  his 
mind  without  giving  any  reason. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Norton,  "  I  think  he  'd  ought 
to  have  told  her  right  out  like  a  man,  not  to  sneak 
off  backhanded  that  way." 

"M-m,"  responded  Mrs.  Peek,  with  an  inde 
scribable  soft  murmur.  "  Doo  you  know,  Mis'  Nor 
ton,  for  certain,  that  he  ever  did  ask  Albiny  to 
marry  him  ?  " 

Mrs.  Norton  looked  at  her  over  her  spectacles, 
with  the  peculiar  glare  of  that  sort  of  inspection. 
"  I  'm  as  certain  of  it  as  though  he  told  me,  though 
I  can't  say  he  did  tell  me,"  she  answered  sharply. 

u  Well,  m-m,  she 's  a  poor  homeless  cretur,  and 
I  wish  her  well.  I  wish  her  well.  But  maybe 
you  '11  find  out  things  ain't  jest  as  you  think  they 
is ;  but  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin',  —  no  I  don't 
want  to  speak  about  it." 

"  I  b'lieve  she 's  a  good  girl,  Mis'  Peek,"  said 
the  deacon's  wife  angrily.  "  I  b'lieve  every  word 
she  says.  I  don'  know  as  anybody  asked  him  to 
make  up  to  her,  nor  as  anybody  cares  if  he  doos  or 
doos  n't,  but  I  blame  a  man  for  keepin'  company 
with  any  gal,  an'  then  turnin'  square  round  an' 
backin'  down,  without  no  reason  nor  rhyme  to  be 
given." 

44  Well,  m-m,  well,  if  so  be,  '£  is  so ;  but  I  'm  free 


98  ODD  MISS   TODD. 

to  say  I  ain't  by  no  means  sure  't  he  ever  did  say 
snip  to  her,  so  to  speak.  I  wish  her  well.  I  hope 
she  '11  marry  somebody  that  '11  make  a  good  home 
for  her,  but  —  well,  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin'." 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  keep  doing  it  for, 
then?"  curtly  inquired  Miss  Miny. 

An  evil  flash  shot  out  of  the  dead  black  eyes,  like 
flame  out  of  thick  smoke ;  but  Mrs.  Peek  did  not 
or  could  not  answer,  and  Miss  Todd  went  on :  — 

"If  you  wish  Albiny  Morse  well,  why  do  you 
keep  insinuatin'  against  her  ?  I  guess  you  mistake  ; 
you  don't  like  her,  and  you  tell  that  it 's  probable  — 
well,  that  it 's  likely  she  's  told  a  lie  about  that 
fellow.  I  don't  believe  it,  and  I  don't  think,  Mis' 
Peek,  you  remember  what  Scripter  says  about 
doin'  to  others  as  you'd  have  them  do  to  you. 
'T  would  n't  be  altogether  agreeable,  I  guess,  to  have 
folks  say  that  you  'd  asked  Mr.  Peek  to  have  ye 
before  he  'd  ever  thought  on  't,  now  would  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Peek  was  hit  on  a  sore  spot  by  this  pellet ; 
she  looked  at  Miss  Miny  as  if  a  dagger  and  a 
thrust  would  have  interpreted  her  better  than 
speech. 

"  I  have  n't  nothin'  to  say  to  sech  remarks,"  she 
murmured  unctuously.  "  No,  I  don't  wish  to  say 
no  more." 

"  Don't  say  it,  then ;  nobody  asked  you  to," 
stoutly  replied  Miss  Todd.  "  Least  said  is  soonest 
mended,  'specially  about  your  neighbors." 

"  Well,  you  sot  her  down  consider'ble,"  said  Mrs. 
Norton,  as  the  small  serpent  glided  away,'  hissing 
gently. 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  99 

"I  don't  like  such  talk,"  was  Miss  Todd's  re 
joinder.  "  I  take  a  lot  of  interest  in  other  f  olks's 
affairs.  I  can't  help  it.  I  have  n't  got  kith  nor  kin 
of  my  own,  and  I  do  get  to  feel  as  though  all  Dor 
set  was  a  sort  of  a  family  to  me  ;  and  I  believe  the 
Lord  made  folks  to  be  int'rested  in  other  folks,  or 
the  world  could  n't  gee,  anyhow ;  but  as  for  scan 
dal  and  unfriendly  talk,  I  don't  like  it.  If  it's 
got  to  be,  why  speak  it  out.  I  never  could  bear 
mice  because  they  always  run  round  under  things 
and  rustle.  It 's  mean  to  sneak,  and  hide,  and 
burrow  like  that.  I  've  got  as  much  respect  again 
for  a  man  that  swears  right  out  as  I  have  for  one 
that  keeps  hintin'." 

"  For  goodness'  sake !  "  exclaimed  the  horrified 
listener. 

Mrs.  Norton  had  her  own  private  grievances, 
and  they  were  growing  fast.  She  had  but  one 
daughter,  a  pretty  girl  of  sixteen,  whose  waving 
red  hair,  white  skin,  blue  eyes,  and  scarlet  lips 
were  mightily  attractive  to  the  youths  of  Dorset ; 
for  though  Dell  Norton  had  a  quick  temper,  she 
had  a  merry  wit,  and  was  full  of  fun  and  bright 
ness.  Her  father  loved  her  with  all  his  shut-up 
heart,  and  her  mother  spoiled  and  scolded  her  by 
turns,  but  if  anybody  else  found  fault  with  Dell  she 
was  as  ready  to  fly  at  them  as  an  old  hen  whose 
chickens  are  profaned  by  mortal  approach. 

Now  the  girl  had  a  girlish  fashion  of  speech 
which  Miss  Todd  did  not  like,  it  seemed  to  her  so 
near  an  approach  to  positive  lying  ;  and  she  at  last 


100  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

expressed  her  opinion,  as  usual,  with  entire  frank 
ness.  She  had  gone  into  Deacon  Norton's  of  an 
errand  one  day,  and  Dell  came  hurrying  in  to  ask 
her  mother  if  she  might  go  to  ride  with  Sam  El- 
derkin,  a  youth  of  good  report,  but  a  poor  farmer, 
which  is  next  door  to  being  a  pauper  in  New  Eng 
land. 

Regardless  of  poverty,  however,  Sam  had  "  cast 
a  wistful  eye,"  as  the  hymn-book  says,  into  Deacon 
Norton's  fold,  and  Mrs.  Norton  suspected  it.  Dell 
liked  him  as  she  liked  a  dozen  others,  and  her 
mother  was  wise  enough  to  say  nothing  till  she 
should  see  real  occasion. 

Dell  was  all  animation  to-day. 

"  Oh,  ma  !  Sam  Elderkin  's  got  a  new  horse  ;  his 
uncle  down  to  Hartford  sent  it  up  to  him.  My  ! 
ain't  it  a  splendid  one!  Its  back's  three  weeks 
broad,  and  it  jest  goes  like  a  livin'  storm.  I  don't 
believe  lightnin'  would  more  'n  keep  up  with  it. 
I  'd  jest  like  to  ride  behind  it  forever.  Can't  I  go 
over  to  Wallingford  with  him  ?  " 

Mrs.  Norton  could  say  neither  yes  nor  no,  for 
Miss  Miny  asked  so  quickly  and  quietly,  "  You 
don't  mean  what  you  say,  do  ye,  Adelye  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  I  ?  "  snapped  the  girl. 

"  Why,  forever  's  a  long  time,  and  I  don't  be 
lieve  even  a  Hartford  horse  could  go  like  lightnin'. 
Seems  as  if  your  words  was  n't  needed  to  be  so 
big,  are  they  ?  " 

Dell  sunk  down  in  a  chair  and  stared  at  this 
audacious  female,  but  her  mother  blazed  up. 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  101 

"  Look  here,  Miss  Todd.  I  guess  I  'm  entire 
capable  of  bossin'  Dell.  She  suits  ntey  if  sh^e  don't 
you.  Go  put  on  you  bun.net,  child,  and  go  'long. 
What  in  the  world  air  you  a<}w;ayrt  maudlin'  -with, . 
other  folks's  business  for,  Miss  Miny?  Does  it 
give  you  real  satisfaction  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Miny  quietly,  with  no  trace  of 
vexation  on  her  homely  face.  "  I  don't  know  as 
I  ought  to  have  said  what  I  did,  but  I  do  dislike 
to  hear  girls  get  into  such  a  big  way  of  talk ;  it 
seems  so  disrespectful  to  facts  ;  and  then  it  uses 
up  words  so  fast,  —  makes  idle  words,  seems  to  me. 
But  I  allow,  Mrs.  Norton,  I  had  better  not  have 
spoke.  I  suppose  I  do  seem  to  take  more  than  my 
lawful  int'rest  in  folks  that  ain't  my  folks;  but 
you  see  I  grew  up  in  the  wilderness,  and  I  have  n't 
got  any  people  of  my  own,  and  I  have  to  like  them 
that  don't  belong  to  me,  and  I  get  to  feeling  as  if 
they  was  my  own." 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Norton,  aghast  at  the  s 
honesty  and  humility  of  odd  Miss  Todd  ;  but  Dell , 
rushed   out  of   the  bedroom  where  she  had   been 
prinking,  threw  her  arms  round  Miss  Miny,  and 
gave  her  a  hearty  hug,  exclaiming,  — 

"  You  dear  old  thing !  you  shall  say  just  what 
you  're  a  mind  to,  for  you  're  just  as  clever  as  you 
can  be,  so  there !  " 

Miss  Miny  laughed,  though  her  eyes  were  very 
dim.  Dell's  generous  young  heart  had  been 
touched,  and  thereafter  she  found  her  way  to  the 
spinster's  little  house  often,  and  through  her  confi- 


102  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

dences  in  the  twilight,  or  beside  the  wood  fire,  Miss 
MiiiF "  discolored"  before  many  months  that  Sam 
Elderkin  was  resolve'd  to  marry  Dell,  and  she  was 
as  deter iniiied'  to  mar,ry  him  ;  but  both  the  deacon 
an  d  Mrs.  Norton  were  opposed  with  equal  determi 
nation  to  the  match. 

"  As  obstinate  as  a  Norton,"  was  a  Dorset  prov 
erb  ;  but  Miss  Miny,  unafraid  of  proverbs,  de 
termined  to  throw  herself  into  the  breach,  and 
make  things  as  right  and  straight  as  she  could. 
For  once  she  showed  a  little  of  the  serpent's  wis 
dom.  Instinctively  she  understood,  what  the  ad 
herents  of  "  women's  rights  "  ignore,  the  fact  that 
a  woman  can  influence  a  man,  or  a  man  a  woman, 
from  the  very  reason  of  their  difference  in  sex  ;  so 
instead  of  going  to  Mrs.  Norton,  she  cornered  the 
deacon  one  day  in  the  store,  and  asked  him  to 
step  over  to  her  house,  and  there  laid  the  situation 
before  him. 

"  'T  ain't  no  use  talkin',"  he  replied.  "  Sam  El 
derkin  ain't  worth  a  copper  to-day  over  'n'  above 
'his  farm,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  see  Dell  give  over  to 
want  nor  pestered  with  a  shiftless  husband." 

"  Well,  now,  Deacon  Norton,  who  do  you  expect 
Dell  will  marry  ?  " 

The  man  looked  puzzled,  but  went  on  :  "  Why, 
I  expect  she  '11  come  acrost  some  well-to-do  feller 
some  time  that  '11  make  her  comfortable." 

"  There  ain't  anybody  in  Dorset  you  want  her  to 
take  up  with  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  there  is,  and  I  don't  know  as 
there  is.  On  the  whole,  I  guess  there  ain't." 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  103 

"  Do  you  mean  to  send  her  away  ?  " 

"  No,  marm.  I  don't  hold  to  gals  goin'  visitin9 
round  ;  it  sure  turns  their  heads." 

"  Well,  then,  deacon,  as  sure  as  you  set  there, 
Sam  is  bound  to  marry  Dell,  and  she  is  in  the 
same  mind,  whether  you  let  'em  or  no.  Now  ain't 
it  a  lot  better  to  give  countenance  to  it  than  to 
have  all  Dorset  talking  about  you  and  yours,  say 
ing  hard  things  about  your  bein'  a  professor,  yet 
so  fond  of  money  and  so  hard  on  your  girl  ?  Have 
you  got  any  right  to  fetch  reproach  on  the  Church, 
jest  to  have  your  will  done  in  this  thing?  Sam 
Elderkin  is  a  good  young  man  as  ever  was,  only 
he  's  poor.  Was  n't  Mis'  Norton  arid  you  poor 
when  you  commenced  in  life  ;  and  are  you  willing 
to  make  Dell  real  unhappy,  and  give  occasion  to 
the  enemy  to  revile,  because  you  want  her  to  do 
different  from  what  you  did  ?  " 

"You're  the  peskiest  woman  I  ever  see!" 
roared  the  deacon,  flinging  out  of  the  house  and 
banging  the  door  behind  him.  But  he  did  not 
shut  the  truths  he  had  heard  inside  that  door ; 
they  rang  in  his  ears  wherever  he  went,  followed 
him,  like  the  frogs  of  Egypt's  plague,  even  into 
his  bedchamber,  tingled  in  his  brain  at  every 
prayer-meeting,  and,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  when 
he  came  to  confession  afterward,  "  Them  things 
you  said  jest  stuck  to  me  like  a  bunch  of  burdocks 
to  a  dog's  tail.  I  could  n't  neither  drop  'em,  nor 
claw  'em  off." 

But  the  result  was  that  in  due  season  Dell  Nor- 


104  ODD  MISS   TODD. 

ton  was  married  properly  at  her  father's  house, 
and  the  farm  Sam  Elderkin  owned  dowered  with 
four  grade  Alderneys  from  the  Norton  herd  and  a 
pair  of  great  red  oxen.  Dell  developed  into  a 
model  wife  and  mother,  and  made  such  butter  as 
Dorset  never  saw  before  ;  and  when  little  hands 
grasped  the  old  man's  rough  fingers,  and  little  feet 
toddled  beside  him  down  to  the  garden  gate,  Dea 
con  Norton,  in  his  secret  heart,  felt  a  thrill  of  fer 
vent  gratitude  to  odd  Miss  Todd. 

There  lived  in  Dorset  a  poor  widow  with  one 
son.  Jonas  Pringle  was  always  a  good  boy,  —  in 
fact,  rather  a  goody  boy,  one  of  the  sort  that  usually 
boast  of  being  the  sons  of  poor  but  pious  parents. 
He  was  lean  and  pale  as  a  small  boy,  and  seemed 
merely  to  draw  out  like  a  telescope  rather  than 
grow  with  advancing  years.  His  hair  was  palely 
brown,  his  eyes  palely  blue,  and  his  thin  face  and 
uncertain  mouth  could  not  be  called  lovely  even 
by  the  extremest  maternal  partiality.  His  mother 
was  a  wailing  female  who  would  have  wept  for 
something  she  had  not  in  the  very  lap  of  luxury, 
and  life  afforded  her  abundant  grievances.  If  the 
sky  shone  cloudless,  she  shook  her  head  and  called 
the  day  "  a  real  weather-breeder  ;  "  if  it  rained, 
she  prognosticated  blasted  grain,  rotted  potatoes, 
floods,  land  slips,  or  any  other  evil  she  could  think 
of. 

Jonas  had  the  hunger  for  books  and  education 
that  his  unhealthy  sort  of  organization  is  so  apt  to 
foster.  The  truest  kindness  would  have  been  to 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  105 

turn  him  out  on  a  farm  and  make  him  work  for 
his  living,  where  sun  and  air,  keen  winds,  and 
fresh  earth  would  have  brought  life  and  color  into 
his  unwholesome  visage,  and  hearty  labor  strength 
ened  his  flaccid  muscles  and  knit  his  loose  joints. 
He  needed  fibre  and  force,  outward  growth,  and 
nourishing  food.  But  his  weak  mother  coddled 
him  from  babyhood,  —  kept  him  close  by  the  stove, 
and  taught  him  to  knit  and  sew,  when  he  should 
have  been  snowballing  other  boys  or  skating  on 
Dorset  Pond.  She  fed  him  on  such  cake  and  pie 
as  her  poverty  of  money  and  skill  both  allowed,  — 
messes  of  poor  flour,  lard,  soda,  molasses,  and  all 
spice  ;  she  gave  him  strong  green  tea  for  the  con 
sequent  headaches  these  viands  surely  caused,  and 
tucked  him  up  in  bed  with  hot  bricks  and  doses 
of  herb  tea,  when  boys  of  his  own  age,  like  Sam 
Elderkin,  slept  in  the  garret,  with  snowdrifts  on 
their  homespun  blankets. 

Miss  Miny  had  only  been  established  in  Dorset 
a  few  years,  and  Jonas  was  a  tall  sallow  youth  of 
eighteen,  when  one  fine  day  Mrs.  Pringle  took  to 
her  bed,  to  rise  no  more.  Contradictory  as  women 
are,  she  endured  her  last  illness  with  cheerful  forti 
tude,  and  parted  from  Jonas  with  a  smile,  com 
mending  him  in  full  faith  to  the  widow's  God.  Jo 
nas  did  not  appear  to  suffer  as  much  as  would  have 
pleased  sympathizing  friends.  The  truth  was,  his 
bringing  up  had  necessarily  made  him  selfish,  and 
while  he  really  mourned  for  his  mother,  it  was 
more  because  she  had  left  him  to  take  care  of  him- 


106  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

self  than  for  any  deep  filial  love  or  sense  of  lost 
companionship. 

It  was  the  greatest  comfort  he  could  have,  to  be 
taken  home  by  Miss  Todd,  installed  in  her  com 
fortable  spare  room,  and  made  much  of,  and  Dor 
set  people  were  not  greatly  surprised  when  they 
learned  it  was  Miss  Miny's  intention  to  educate 
Jonas  for  the  ministry,  and  give  him  a  home.  It 
required  some  self-denial  on  Miss  Miny's  part  to 
do  this  ;  her  old  servant  had  died  just  before  Mrs. 
Pringle,  and  as  yet  she  had  not  replaced  her.  She 
resolved  now  to  do  her  own  work,  and  she  also 
bought  a  knitting  machine,  and  ground  out  dozens 
of  pairs  of  worsted  stockings,  which  she  sold.  Her 
money  had  been  well  invested,  but  her  charities 
were  exhaustive,  and  she  would  not  discontinue 
one  of  them,  but  did  her  utmost  in  the  way  of 
work  and  economy  for  Jonas's  sake,  and  felt  her 
self  repaid  when  in  five  years'  time  he  came  back  a 
full-fledged  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  preached 
in  the  old  church  of  his  native  village. 

He  did  not  at  once  attempt  to  settle  anywhere. 
Dor  set,  was  pleasant  to  his  soul.  He  was  comfort 
ably  housed  and  fed,  and  it  gave  him  keen  pleasure 
to  walk  abroad  among  those  who  had  looked  down 
on  his  youthful  poverty,  and  look  down  on  them, 
from  his  double  pinnacle  of  education  and  office. 
Jonas  was  selfish,  crafty,  and  plausible;  his  pale 
blue  eyes  were  true  to  their  usual  index  of  charac 
ter,  an  index  that  points  to  self-love  and  want  of 
genuine  honesty ;  and  when  he  suggested  that  his 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  107 

health  was  injured  by  study,  and  he  thought  it 
would  be  best  for  him  to  spend  the  summer  in 
Dorset  and  recruit,  Miss  Miny  joyfully  fell  in 
with  the  arrangement. 

It  is  a  fixed  law  of  our  moral  nature  that  we 
love  those  whom  we  befriend,  and  odd  Miss  Todd 
was  not  odd  enough  to  evade  this  constitutional 
edict.  She  had  spent  time,  money,  and  pains  on 
Jonas  as  freely  as  if  he  had  been  her  son,  and  she 
loved  him  with  as  pure  and  fervent  affection  as 
ever  mother  felt  for  her  only  boy,  for  in  her  nature 
lay  that  intense  maternal  feeling  which  is  not  given 
always  to  the  physical  mother,  —  that  capacity  of 
devotion,  self-sacrifice,  and  powerful  affection  that 
makes  a  woman  most  womanly,  most  happy,  yet 
capable  of  anguish  unspeakable  and  mourning  that 
will  not  be  comforted.  It  did  not  matter  to  Miss 
Miny  that  Jonas  was  still  lank,  sallow,  pale-haired, 
and  the  very  conformation  and  likeness  of  a  solemn 
prig;  that  he  always  spoke  with  the  awful  and 
lugubrious  intonation  of  "  the  sacred  desk."  She 
did  not  see  in  him  any  distasteful  trait  or  any  un 
comfortable  habit ;  she  enjoyed  his  intellectual  con 
versation,  his  reading  aloud,  his  rather  obtrusive 
and  outspoken  piety.  So  Jonas  basked  in  the  com 
fort  of  Miss  Miny's  neat  bright  house  all  the  long 
summer  through,  now  and  then  exhorting  at  prayer- 
meetings  or  helping  at  a  funeral  just  to  keep  his 
hand  in. 

He  was  not  naturally  an  energetic  man ;  his 
tastes  were  studious  and  dainty,  his  constitution 


108  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

frail,  and  all  these  combined  to  make  him  indolent. 
As  Mrs.  Deacon  Norton  ptmgently  remarked,  "  He 
won't  never  eat  smart  man's  bread :  he  likes  to  set 
on  a  fence  and  see  folks  mow." 

As  he  whiled  away  the  summer,  it  came  into  his 
head  how  pleasant  life  would  be  if  one  need  not 
work  for  a  living,  —  not  a  singular  idea,  and  one 
that  most  of  us  who  do  work  for  a  living  frequently 
entertain,  but  with  the  thought  arose  a  way  of  es 
cape  from  this  dreaded  vista.  Why  should  not  he 
marry  Miss  Miny  ?  He  might  perhaps  have  specu 
lated  on  becoming  her  heir,  but  she  had  already 
confided  to  him  that  her  property  had  been  left  to 
provide  a  free  library  and  reading-room  for  the 
town  of  Dorset,  and  her  will  was  in  the  judge  of 
probate's  hands. 

It  was  an  objection  that  she  was  twenty  years 
older  than  he,  but  in  New  England  country  towns 
a  woman  is  frequently  some  years  older  than  her 
husband,  and  Miss  Miny  had  no  relatives  to  object, 
nor  had  he. 

Once  married,  it  would  be  easy  to  persuade  her 
to  destroy  that  will,  and  he  had  the  acuteness  for 
his  own  interest  common  to  selfish  men,  and  under 
stood  that  odd  Miss  Todd  could  do  an  odd  thing 
without  provoking  the  comment  of  society.  He 
had  full  faith  in  his  own  powers  of  fascination,  as 
well  as  in  her  capacity  for  deep  feeling,  and  after 
much  consideration  resolved  to  make  cautious  ap 
proaches.  He  became  more  devoted  in  manner ; 
exerted  himself  to  spare  her  fatigue  and  trouble  ; 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  109 

sighed  occasionally,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  in  a 
pathetic  way ;  interspersed  his  readings  with  poe 
try  ;  put  on  her  shawl  with  almost  an  embrace ;  and 
never  went  out  for  a  stroll  without  bringing  her 
wild  flowers  that  she  loved,  or  berries  from  the  hills 
and  uplands. 

Poor  Miss  Todd !  in  that  lone  bosom  the  girl's 
heart  lay  sleeping  ;  no  touch  of  prince's  lips  had 
ever  disturbed  its  long  sleep,  but  it  was  living  still, 
and  now  with  strange  and  almost  painful  throbs  it 
began  to  dream,  to  stir.  She  resisted  the  unwonted 
trouble  as  a  blind  man  might  resist  unknown  ap 
proach  and  alien  caresses,  not  knowing  how  to 
define  the  new  and  vague  delight.  She  prayed  fer 
vently  that  she  might  not  be  given  to  idolatry,  for 
she  knew  well  that  Jonas  grew  dearer  to  her  daily, 
though  she  had  not  yet  recognized  the  divine  un 
rest  that  was  sweeter  than  any  foregone  peace  ;  her 
heart  ached  with  feeling  as  we  sometimes  ache 
physically  with  laughter,  for  it  was  a  pleasant  pain. 
Does  the  aloe  leave  its  long  verdurous  quiet  and 
burst  into  stately  bloom  with  such  careless  ease  as 
the  new-sprung  violet  blossoms  ?  Does  not  some 
dull  pang  strike  through  the  bulb  that  has  lain  all 
winter  barren  and  hidden,  when  it  sends  upward 
its  odorous  spike  of  heaven -blue  bells  ? 

I  do  not  know  whether  to  weep  or  smile  over  this 
poor  tale  of  genuine  if  delayed  passion  ;  it  certainly 
is  pitiful,  yet  it  cannot  help  being  ludicrous  to  be 
tray  what  curious  fancies  possessed  odd  Miss  Todd 
at  this  crisis  of  her  life.  No  "  sudden  interposition 


110  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

of  several  guardian  angels,"  such  as  saved  dear  old 
Hepzi ball's  turban  from  desecration,  interfered  in 
her  behalf  ;  she  began  to  wear  pink  ribbons,  which 
she  had  never  yet  indulged  in ;  and  further  to  set 
off  her  dark  and  dingy  skin,  bought  herself  a 
bright  deep  green  gown  ;  strove  with  the  patient 
anguish  only  a  woman  knows  to  build  her  scant  and 
crinkled  hair  up  in  some  semblance  of  prevailing 
fashions ;  and  illuminated  her  decent  gray  and 
black  Sunday  bonnet  with  a  red  rose  outside  and  a 
blue  bow  inside.  Dorset  stared  with  all  its  eyes, 
but  only  laughed  at  odd  Miss  Todd.  She  lived  be 
hind  her  character  as  behind  a  shield  ;  not  a  human 
being  suspected  that  these  outbursts  of  color,  these 
shining  eyes,  this  alert  step,  were  not  oddities  at 
all,  but  genuine  submissions  to  nature's  commonest 
law,  the  law  of  love. 

It  occurred  to  Jonas  as  the  long  summer  days 
went  on  that  it  would  be  very  pleasant  to  drive 
about  Dorset,  and  would  give  him  more  opportu 
nity  to  hold  private  converse  with  Miss  Miny;  for 
her  house  was  already  like  the  cave  of  Adullam : 
"  every  one  in  distress,  and  everyone  discontented," 
came  there  for  help  and  counsel,  and  their  tete-d- 
tetes  were  few  and  brief  ;  so  he  borrowed  some  kind 
body's  old  horse  and  rattling  wagon  now  and  again, 
and  drove  Miss  Todd  through  winding  lanes,  fra 
grant  woods,  up  and  down  hills  from  whence  the 
outlook  was  exquisite  ;  or  they  wound  along  the/ 
edge  of  Dorset  Pond,  catching  the  too  sweet  breath 
of  the  white  clethra  on  its  shores,  the  finer  odor  of 


ODD  MISS   TODD.  Ill 

late  wild  roses,  or  the  delicate  perfume  of  grape  blos 
soms,  —  all  recalling  Miss  Miny's  childhood  to  her 
mind  and  her  heart,  and  putting  the  wistful  girlish 
look  into  eyes  that  so  long  had  gazed  sadly  on  sin 
and  sorrow.  But  all  this  took  up  her  time.  House 
work  languished,  and  she  bethought  herself  of  get 
ting  some  help  in  her  kitchen,  when  one  hot  Au 
gust  day  Parson  Fry  stalked  in  to  request  aid  from 
her  ever-ready  benevolence. 

He  had  just  received  a  letter  from  Mary  Spencer, 
a  former  resident  of  Dorset,  and  distantly  related 
to  his  wife,  written  on  her  death-bed.  She  had 
married  a  Southerner  many  years  ago,  a  man  of 
wealth,  who  had  been  attracted  by  her  great  beauty. 
She  was  but  a  poor  girl,  the  tavern-keeper's  daugh 
ter,  and  Mr.  Spencer  had  taken  her  to  Carolina, 
where  for  a  year  or  two  she  lived  an  ideal  life, 
happy  as  love  and  luxury  can  make  a  girl  who  has 
not  known  either  before.  Then  the  war  came  ;  her 
husband  lost  all  his  property,  was  killed  in  battle, 
and  she  returned  to  Champlin,  a  small  town  in 
Massachusetts,  where  her  father  had  moved  from 
Dorset,  bringing  with  her  a  baby  girl.  There  she 
had  lived  as  before,  helping  in  the  tavern  work  till 
her  child  was  eighteen  years  old.  Her  mother  had 
died  long  ago,  and  she  herself  been  wasting  for 
years  with  slow  consumption,  when  suddenly  her 
father  fell  dead  of  apoplexy,  and  the  shock  has 
tened  her  own  end.  She  had  not  a  relative  in  the 
world  or  a  friend  to  whose  care  she  could  leave 
Eleanor,  except  Parson  Fry,  and  when  he  received 


112  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

her  letter  she  was  already  dead,  and  Nora  crying 
her  heart  out  over  her  mother.  Parson  Fry  was 
at  his  wits'  end  ;  he  had  not  a  spare  inch  of  room 
in  the  parsonage.  Indeed,  if  any  brother  minister 
happened  in,  as  they  are  apt  to  do,  Deacon  Norton 
had  to  lodge  him,  for  the  "  minister's  blessing  " 
was  in  full  force  in  the  parson's  abode,  ten  small 
children  and  a  baby  giving  him  what  Mrs.  Norton 
rather  sarcastically  called  "  John  Kogers's  mea 
sure."  She  had  been  brought  up  on  the  old  New 
England  Primer,  and  the  dim  crowd  that  sur 
rounded  that  martyr  at  the  stake  —  ten  children 
and  one  to  carry  —  was  present  to  her  memory. 

It  was  of  course  impossible  to  take  Nora  into 
his  own  house,  so  he  came  to  consult  with  Miss 
Todd  about  her  disposal,  and  found  that  good  wo 
man  ready  and  glad  to  help  him ;  indeed,  she  re 
garded  it  as  a  direct  providence  that  the  girl  had 
been  sent  to  her  in  time  of  need.  Providence 
does  not  always  work  after  our  limited  prescience, 
however,  but  it  did  prove  to  be  the  divinest  of  prov 
idences  to  Miss  Miny  that  Nora  arrived  just  then, 
though  it  wore  a  dark  frown  for  a  long  time,  and 
hid  its  "  smiling  face." 

Eleanor  Spencer  had  lived,  so  long  in  the  tavern 
at  Champlin,  and  been  made  so  useful  in  conse 
quence  of  her  mother's  failing  health,  that  Miss 
Miny's  housework  was  mere  play  to  her  young 
strength  and  older  experience.  After  the  old  patri 
archal  fashion  of  New  England,  she  was  made  one 
of  the  family,  and  Jonas  opened  his  eyes  to  their 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  113 

fullest  extent  when  Nora  appeared  first  at  the 
breakfast-table,  having  arrived  the  night  before, 
and  already  cooked  the  pink  slice  of  savory  ham, 
set  about  with  milk-white  eggs,  the  puffy  biscuit, 
the  spongy  flapjacks,  and  clear  coffee  that  his  soul 
loved.  She  inherited  her  mother's  beauty,  with  the 
coloring  of  her  father's  family :  a  brilliant  com 
plexion,  great,  soft  dark  eyes,  bright  hair  that  waved 
all  over  her  shapely  head  and  was  gathered  in  coil 
on  coil  behind,  and  a  slight  and  graceful  figure,  all 
of  which  her  lilac  print  dress  and  spotless  apron  set 
off  as  green  leaves  do  a  rose.  She  was  "  a  vision 
of  delight "  indeed,  and  Miss  Miny,  honest  soul ! 
looked  at  her  with  pleasure  and  admiration. 

But  as  the  summer  days  went  on,  and  Nora  be 
came  more  wonted  to  her  work,  she  learned  to  be 
more  deft  and  nimble,  and  had  many  an  hour  to 
spend  in  the  keeping-room,  busy  with  her  own  sew 
ing  or  Miss  Miny's.  She,  too,  listened  to  the  read 
ings  and  absorbed  them  into  her  quick  and  willing 
mind  ;  her  eyes  darkened  or  shone  at  the  lofty  or 
passionate  poetry,  and  her  beautiful  dimples  danced, 
her  red  lips  quivered  with  laughter,  at  whatever 
wit  or  humor  lay  among  Jonas's  selections.  She 
was  a  whole  audience  in  herself,  and  her  attention 
and  appreciation  flattered  the  reader  deeply,  but 
her  beauty  did  more  potent  execution. 

For  Jonas  was  young ;  and  here,  face  to  face 
with  him  day  after  day,  was  a  girl  beautiful  as 
flesh  and  blood  can  be,  and  as  intelligent  as  beau 
tiful.  It  was  altogether  too  much.  His  heart  tri- 


114  ODD  MISS   TODD. 

umphed  over  his  policy ;  in  the  madness  of  a  real 
passion  he  was  ready  to  go  all  lengths  of  labor  and 
renunciation  if  Nora  were  his ;  and  she  began  with 
that  sort  of  hero  worship  inborn  in  most  girls  to 
look  up  adoringly  at  such  wonders  of  education  and 
intellect  as  his.  She  had  seen  hitherto  only  the 
commonest  class  of  men,  such  as  frequent  a  coun 
try  tavern,  and  had  no  measure  in  her  mind  by 
which  to  test  this  man's  real  capacity ;  so  she  stood 
as  ready  to  receive  and  respond  to  his  first  expres 
sion  of  feeling  as  a  budded  rose  stands  ready  wait 
ing  for  the  expanding  sun. 

It  was  some  time  before  Miss  Miny's  unsuspicious 
nature  perceived  the  open  secret  that  was  acting  in 
her  quiet  house.  She  was  perceptive  enough,  but 
it  seemed  to  her  inexperience  that  Jonas  was  as 
much  bound  to  prefer  her  to  all  other  women  as  if 
he  had  sworn  an  oath  of  fealty.  She  was  as  odd 
in  her  ignorance  of  humanity  as  in  everything 
else  ;  a  kiss  would  have  been  to  this  singular  hon 
esty  of  hers  as  sacred  as  a  marriage  vow ;  incred 
ible  as  it  may  seem,  she  did  not  imagine  it  possible 
for  a  man  to  show  every  lover-like  attention  to  a 
woman,  and  then  "  whistle  down  the  wind  "  to  a 
prettier  face.  This  sort  of  thing,  common  as  blades 
1  of  grass,  wore  to  her  simplicity  an  aspect  both  tragic 
^  and  brutal ;  dishonesty  was  an  equal  crime  in  her 
eyes  with  murder,  for  she  took  her  ethical  standard 
from  the  Bible,  not  from  society,  and  found  there 
no  distinction  in  evil,  no  grades  of  sin,  —  save  that 
awful  exception,  the  sin  unpardonable. 


s 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  115 

Yet  before  October  poured  its  living  dyes  along 
the  Dorset  hills,  odd  Miss  Todd  began  to  see  what 
no  other  woman  could  have  so  long  misunderstood. 
She  felt  in  her  kind  and  faithful  bosom  the  tortures 
that  have  no  parallel  in  this  world,  —  the  remorse 
less  tortures  of  jealousy.  She  had  been  all  her  life 
at  peace  with  herself.  Even  Parson  Fry  had  dis 
turbed  his  soul  over  her  religious  experience  be 
cause  she  never  could  truthfully  say  that  she  was 
the  chief  of  sinners.  But  now  she  hated  herself  as  ff  .'•' 
earnestly  as  Calvin  could  have  desired  ;  for  there 
developed  within  her  such  suspicion,  such  unkind- 
ness,  something  so  near  akin  to  hatred,  that  her 
prayers  were  mere  utterances  of  agony,  and  her 
Bible  a  dead  letter. 

Sleep  forsook  her,  and  her  daily  food  grew  bit 
ter.  It  was  scarcely  a  relief  to  her  when  Jonas 
left  Dorset  to  find,  if  possible,  a  parish  where  he 
was  wanted ;  for  she  knew,  with  the  fearful  insight 
of  jealousy,  why  Nora  took  her  daily  walk  to  the 
post-office,  and  why  the  letters  she  herself  received 
from  her  boy  were  so  dry  and  brief.  She  was  too 
good  to  be  positively  unkind  to  Nora,  and  the  girl 
was  too  deep  in  her  bright  dream  to  be  troubled  by 
Miss  Todd's  unusual  silence  and  constrained  man 
ner.  Her  heart  would  have  been  shocked  to  pity 
—  she  had  a  kind  heart  —  to  know  what  a  life  her 
companion  and  friend  was  enduring. 

Before  Jonas  had  been  prospecting  —  if  that 
phrase  is  allowable  —  a  month,  he  was  engaged  to 
fill  the  pulpit  of  a  country  church  in  Connecticut 


116  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

for  a  year,  and  with  the  characteristic  imprudence 
of  a  man  in  love,  he  thought  this  was  enough  to 
warrant  his  marriage.  He  argued  that  one  engage 
ment  would  at  least  lead  to  another,  and  most  prob 
ably  to  a  settlement ;  for  he  had  a  certain  floral 
eloquence  and  a  "  glittering  generality  "  in  his  ser 
mons  that  tickled  people's  ears,  and  did  not  dis 
turb  their  consciences,  —  two  qualifications  which 
always  make  a  clergyman  popular.  He  had  not 
an  idea  that  he  had  treated  Miss  Todd  in  a  way 
she  could  or  should  resent.  He  fell  back  on  the 
patent  fact  that  he  had  never  asked  her  to  marry 
him ;  and  it  is  a  general  masculine  code  that  up  to 
this  Rubicon  you  may  fight  or  flee,  as  you  like. 

So  he  went  back  to  Dorset  in  great  glee ;  but  his 
first  entrance  into  the  atmosphere  of  Miss  Todd's 
house  warned  him  of  possible  explosives.  He  so 
bered  down  his  joy,  was  pleasant  and  deferential 
to  Miss  Miny,  and  devised  private  opportunites  of 
speech  with  Nora ;  in  fact,  his  final  appeal  to  her, 
and  her  acceptance,  took  place  in  what  he  after 
ward  recalled  as  "  that  sacred  spot  in  front  of  the 
corner  grocery." 

It  was  agreed  between  the  lovers  that  Miss 
Todd  should  not  at  present  be  taken  into  their 
confidence.  They  had  an  unacknowledged  con 
sciousness  of  her  probable  displeasure,  so  she  was 
left  to  fight  with  her  grief  in  that  solitude  that 
makes  battle  so  hard,  victory  so  long  of  coming. 
She  was  a  reasonable  woman  ordinarily,  but  what 
jealous  man  or  woman  is  reasonable  ?  It  was  the 


ODD  MISS   TODD.  117 

most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  a  young  fel 
low  like  Jonas,  ready  to  marry  a  plain,  positive, 
odd,  and  old  woman,  from  motives  of  policy,  should 
be  turned  from  his  intent  by  the  daily  presence 
and  contrast  of  abundant  beauty  and  the  divine 
charm  of  youth,  but  Miss  Todd  resented  it  in  her 
soul  as  a  real  crime.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  run  from  this  conflict,  and  she  could  not  run  ; 
she  had  nowhere  to  go.  Fortunately  for  her,  this  f 
inward  storm  disturbed  the  equilibrium  of  her 
strong  constitution  ;  she  took  to  her  bed,  and  in  ' 
the  comfortless  tossings  of  a  long  low  fever  prayed  . 
day  and  night  to  die.  No  one  dies,  however,  when  | 
they  wish  to ;  she  had  to  submit  to  Nora's  patient  I 
and  careful  nursing ;  for  though  the  girl  was  too 
young  to  show  much  strength  of  character  as  yet, 
she  was  kind,  and  pitied  Miss  Miny  from  the 
heights  of  her  own  vernal  joy,  as  a  poor  loveless 
old  maid.  Fortunately  she  did  not  put  her  feeling 
into  words,  but  only  put  off  her  marriage,  and 
took  faithful  care  of  Miss  Todd  through  the  long, 
dreary  winter ;  and  when  the  poor  woman  crept 
back  to  life  again,  it  was  to  have  Jonas' s  plans  and 
happiness  poured  into  her  ears.  She  had  a  relapse, 
of  course.  People  said  she  had  been  imprudent ; 
and  so  she  had,  but  long  before  her  fever,  —  im 
prudent  with  the  headlong  carelessness  of  women 
who  let  themselves  fall  into  an  open  pit,  from 
which  none  can  deliver  them. 

The  relapse  served  one  good  purpose :   it  gave 
the  best  of  reasons  why  this  marriage  should  not 


118  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

take  place  at  her  house.  She  hired  a  nurse  from 
another  village,  and  sent  Nora  to  the  parsonage 
for  her  wedding ;  and  when  the  happy  pair  came 
to  say  good-by,  she  was  too  ill  to  see  them.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  Miss  Miny  recovered  ;  but 
by  June  she  declared  herself  well,  and  resumed  her 
lonely  life.  Yet  there  was  a  great  change  ID  her, 
odd  as  she  still  was:  a  deeper,  tenderer  charity 
toward  women,  whom  hitherto  she  had  held  in  a 
sort  of  contempt ;  now  she  seemed  to  have  a  key 
to  many  of  their  shortcomings,  and  to  sympathize 
with  their  pains  and  follies  more  than  women  often 
do  with  each  other.  Even  to  those  whom  society 
holds  unpardonable  —  and  in  as  small  a  place  as 
Dorset  there  are  such  —  she  extended  the  very 
mercy  of  Christ,  and  with  human  love  and  pity 
helped  Him  to  redeem  them.  Toward  men  she 
became  pitiless  and  almost  fierce.  The  injustice 
of  their  social  position  for  the  first  time  became 
visible  to  her  eyes,  and  she  resented  it  with  the 
force  of  her  nature.  Whatever  good  she  did  was 
now  turned  into  another  channel :  she  cared  no 
longer  for  the  boys  in  the  factory,  but  devoted  her 
self  to  the  teaching  of  the  girls  in  Dorset,  sending 
to  Boston  for  a  female  teacher,  and  setting  up  a 
private  school  at  her  own  expense,  except  the  small 
fees  charged  for  tuition,  which  went  no  further  than 
to  hire  and  heat  the  schoolrooms.  Jonas  and  his 
wife  rarely  returned  to  the  town,  for  Miss  Todd 
never  invited  them,  and  Mr.  Fry  could  not.  Their 
first  child  was  named  Hermione  Todd,  but  never 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  119 

profited  thereby,  and  though  Jonas  hoped  to  the 
end  he  received  nothing.  She  had  made  a  new 
will,  and  all  her  money  went  to  found  a  female  col 
lege  of  the  smallest  size,  eligible  for  only  ten  mem 
bers,  and  in  its  rigid  rule  resembling  a  nunnery. 

For  at  length  she  did  die,  and  during  her  last  ill 
ness  Mr.  Fry,  in  pursuance  of  his  office,  had  many 
serious  conversations  with  her.  One  day  he  said, 
"  And  you  feel  in  charity  with  all  men,  Sister 
Todd?" 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  she  replied  sharply.  "  I 
suppose  it  is  n't  a  duty  to  forgive  folks  unless  they 
ask  for  forgiveness,  is 't  ?  " 

Parson  Fry  looked  puzzled.  "  Well,"  he  said 
meditatively,  "  I  do  suppose  we  ought  to  keep  con- 
tinooally  in  a  forgiving  frame." 

"  That  is  n't  the  point.  You  can't  tell  me  about 
Scripter.  The  Lord  never  forgives  folks  without 
they  repent.  To  offer  such  folks  forgiveness  would 
come  the  nearest  of  anything  I  can  think  of  to 
throwin'  pearls  before  swine ;  they  'd  turn  and  rend 
you,  surely." 

"  But  you  should  be  ready  to  forgive  sech  as  do 
repent  and  seek  pardon,"  solemnly  replied  the  par 
son,  a  little  disturbed  by  her  contumacy. 

"  Well,  I  hope  I  am ;  but  there  's  small  chance 
I  shall  be  asked." 

She  never  was.  Though  Jonas  struggled  with 
poverty,  and  Nora  lost  her  beauty  and  grace  in 
the  hard  life  of  a  poor  minister's  wife,  and  her 
husband  repented  that  he  had  not  married  Miss 


120  ODD  MISS  TODD. 

f  Todd,  it  was  simply  because  he  hungered  for  money 

i  with  the  primal  instincts  of  a  lazy  and  selfish  man, 

\  from  whom  the  brief  insanity  of  passion  had  long 

\fled,  and   who  pined  for  the  fleshpots  of   Egypt. 

That  he  had  wronged  her,  or  hurt  her  almost  to  the 

k  death,  never  occurred  to  him. 

7'  Miss  Miny  shocked  the  conventions  of  Dorset 
even  to  her  last  hour,  for  she  extracted  a  promise 
solemn  as  an  oath  from  her  nurse  with  regard  to 
her  funeral. 

"  I  want  you  should  put  on  me  a  clean  night- 
gownd  and  cap,  Semanthy.  I  am  going  to  sleep 
till  the  Lord  comes,  and  I  think  it  is  a  waste  of 
good  clothes  to  bury  them.  I  wish  to  look  con 
formable.  Moreover,  I  want  a  plain  pine  coffin,  and 
no  plate  about  it.  Money  is  n't  plenty  enough,  as 
long  as  there 's  a  poor  woman  livin',  to  make  a  vain 
show  of  it.  I  don't  expect  gown  nor  coffin  to  rise 
no  more  'n  this  miserable  old  body,  and  I  won't  be 
answerable  for  foolish  waste  of  what  the  Lord 
gave  me." 

After  this  she  laid  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  sighed, 
and  died,  quietly  as  a  brown  leaf  falls  from  the  last 
tree  that  holds  those  tawny  ghosts  into  the  edge  of 
winter. 

Dorset  people  all  came  to  her  funeral,  which  was 
held  in  the  meeting-house,  and  the  universal  grief 
discovered  her  secret  benefactions  as  the  early 
rains  discover  seeds  long  ago  sown. 

She  had  done  a  thousand  kindnesses,  small  but 
helpful,  that  were  all  remembered  now,  and  the 


ODD  MISS  TODD.  121 

lonely   woman   was   mourned  and   missed  as  few 
women  are  except  in  their  own  households. 

Mrs.  Norton  made  the  one  characteristic  com 
ment  of  the  day  as  she  looked  at  the  poor  shrunken 
face  of  the  dead :  "  Well,  I  never  did !  of  all 
things !  Laid  out  in  a  night-gownd  and  put  into 
a  pine  coffin !  She  has  n't  never  got  over  bein' 
odd  Miss  Todd." 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

"  We  '11  tak'  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear !  " 

"  PILE  in,  Hannah.  Get  right  down  'long  o'  the 
clock,  so 's  to  kinder  shore  it  up.  I  '11  fix  in  them 
pillers  t'  other  side  on 't,  and  you  can  set  back 
ag'inst  the  bed.  Good-by,  folks !  Gee  up ! 
Bright.  Gee  !  I  tell  ye,  Buck." 

"  Good-by !  "  nodded  Hannah,  from  the  depths 
of  the  old  calash  which  granny  had  given  her  for 
a  riding-hood,  and  her  rosy  face  sparkled  under 
the  green  shadow  like  a  blossom  under  a  burdock 
leaf. 

IThis  was  their  wedding  journey.  Thirty  long 
miles  to  be  traveled,  at  the  slow  pace  of  an  ox-cart, 
where  to-day  a  railroad  spins  by,  and  a  log  hut  in 
the  dim  distance. 

But  Hannah  did  not  cry  about  it.  There  was  a 
momentary  choking,  perhaps,  in  her  throat,  as  she 
caught  a  last  view  of  granny's  mob-cap  and  her 
father's  rough  face,  with  the  red  head  of  her  small 
step-brother  between  them,  grouped  in  the  door 
way.  Her  mother  had  died  long  ago,  and  there 
was  another  in  her  place  now,  and  a  swarm  of  chil 
dren.  Hannah  was  going  to  her  own  home,  to  a 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      123 

much  easier  life,  and  going  with  John.  Why 
should  she  cry  ? 

Besides,  Hannah  was  the  merriest  little  woman 
in  the  country.  She  had  a  laugh  always  lying 
ready  in  a  convenient  dimple. 

She  never  knew  what  "  blues  "  meant,  except  to 
dye  stocking-yarn.  She  was  sunny  as  a  dandelion 
and  gay  as  a  bobolink.  Her  sweet  good-nature 
never  failed  through  the  long  day's  journey,  and 
when  night  came  she  made  a  pot  of  tea  at  the 
camp-fire,  roasted  a  row  of  apples,  and  broiled  a 
partridge  John  shot  by  the  wayside,  with  as  much 
enjoyment  as  if  this  was  the  merest  picnic  excur 
sion,  and  not  a  solitary  camp  in  the  forest,  long 
miles  away  from  any  human  dwelling,  and  by  no 
means  sure  of  safety  from  some  lingering  savage, 
some  beast  of  harmful  nature,  or  at  least  a  visit 
from  a  shambling  black  bear,  for  bears  were  plenti 
ful  enough  in  that  region. 

But  none  of  these  things  worried  Hannah.  She 
ate  her  supper  with  hearty  appetite,  said  her  prayers 
with  John,  and  curled  down  on  the  feather-bed  in 
the  cart,  while  John  heaped  on  more  wood,  and, 
shouldering  his  musket,  went  to  lengthen  the  ropes 
that  tethered  his  oxen,  and  then  mounted  guard 
over  the  camp.  Hannah  watched  his  fine,  grave 
face,  as  the  flickering  light  illuminated  it,  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  slept  tranquilly  till  dawn.  And 
by  sunset  next  day  the  little  party  drew  up  at  the 
door  of  the  log  hut  they  called  home. 

It  looked  very  pretty  to  Hannah.     She  had  the 


124      AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

fairy  gift,  that  is  so  rare  among  mortals,  of  seeing 
beauty  in  its  faintest  expression  ;  and  the  young 
grass  about  the  rough  stone  doorstep,  the  crimson 
cones  on  the  great  larch-tree  behind  it,  the  sunlit 
panes  of  the  west  window,  the  laugh  and  sparkle  of 
the  brook  that  ran  through  the  clearing,  the  blue1* 
eyes  of  the  squirrel-caps,  that  blossomed  shyly  and 
daintily  beside  the  stumps  of  new-felled  trees,  —  all 
these  she  saw  and  delighted  in.  And  when  the 
door  was  open,  the  old  clock  set  up,  the  bed  laid 
on  the  standing  bed  place,  and  the  three  chairs  and 
table  ranged  against  the  wall,  she  began  her  house 
wifery  directly,  singing  as  she  went.  Before  John 
had  put  his  oxen  in  the  small  barn,  sheltered  the 
cart  and  the  tools  in  it,  and  shaken  down  hay  into 
the  manger,  Hannah  had  made  a  fire,  hung  on  the 
kettle,  spread  up  her  bed  with  homespun  sheets 
and  blankets  and  a  wonderful  cover  of  white-and- 
red  chintz,  set  the  table  with  a  loaf  of  bread,  a 
square  of  yellow  butter,  a  bowl  of  maple  sugar, 
and  a  plate  of  cheese ;  and  even  released  the  cock 
and  the  hen  from  their  uneasy  prison  in  a  splint 
basket,  and  was  feeding  them  in  the  little  wood 
shed,  when  John  came  in. 

His  face  lit  up,  as  he  entered,  with  that  joyful 
sense  of  home  so  instinctive  in  every  true  man  and 
woman.  He  rubbed  his  hard  hands  together,  and, 
catching  Hannah  as  she  came  in  at  the  shed-door, 
bestowed  upon  her  a  resounding  kiss. 

"  You  're  the  most  of  a  little  woman  I  ever  see, 
Hannah,  I  swan  to  man." 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      125 

Hannah  laughed  like  a  swarm  of  spring  black 
birds.     "  I  declare,  John,  you  do  beat  all !     Ain't 
it  real  pleasant  here  ?     Seems  to  me  I  never  saw 
I  things  so  handy." 

Oh,  Hannah,  what  if  your  prophetic  soul  could 
have  foreseen  the  conveniences  of  this  hundred 
|  years  after!  Yet  the  shelvesr"the  pegs7  tbe~trcrp= 
board  in  the  corner,  the  broad  shelf  above  the  fire, 
the  great  pine  chest  under  the  window,  and  the 
clumsy  settle,  all  wrought  out  of  pine  board  by 
John's  patient  and  skillful  fingers,  filled  all  her 
needs;  and  what  can  modern  conveniences  do 
more  ? 

So  they  ate  their  supper  at  home  for  the  first 
time,  happy  as  new-nested  birds,  and  far  more  grate 
ful. 

John  had  built  a  sawmill  on  the  brook  a  little 
way  from  the  house,  and  already  owned  a  flourish 
ing  trade  •,  for  the  settlement  about  the  lake  from 
which  Nepasset  Brook  sprung  was  quite  large,  and 
till  John  Perkins  went  there  the  lumber  had  been 
all  drawn  fifteen  miles  off,  to  Litchfield,  and  his  mill 
was  only  three  miles  from  Nepash  village.     Hard 
work  and  hard  fare  lay  before  them  both  ;  but  they  i 
were  not  daunted  by  the  prospect.     Hannah  sung  1 
over  her  washtub  and  her  bread-bowl,  and  found  \ 
time  to  fill  a  "  posy  bed  "  with  old-fashioned  flow 
ers,  train  a  wild  grapevine  on  the  south  side  of  the 
cabin,  and  run  up  daily  to  the  mill  with  dinner  to 
John.     But  by  and  by  a  cradle  entered  the  door, 
and  a  baby  was  laid  in  it.     No  more  running  to 


126     AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

mill.  John  must  come  home  to  dinner  or  carry 
his  own  pail,  for  the  nursling  could  neither  be 
left  nor  taken.  Hannah  sung  now  to  some  pur 
pose  ;  and,  since  there  were  no  green  blinds  to  the 
window,  no  carpets  to  fade,  and  no  superstition 
about  flies  and  moths,  plenty  of  sunshine  poured  in 
on  little  Dorothy,  and  she  grew  like  a  blossom. 

One  baby  is  well  enough  in  a  log  cabin,  with 
one  room  for  all  the  purposes  of  life ;  but  when 
next  year  brought  two  more,  a  pair  of  stout  boys, 
then  John  began  to  saw  lumber  for  his  own  use. 
A  bedroom  was  built  on  the  east  side  of  the  house, 
and  a  rough  stairway  into  the  loft,  —  more  room 
perhaps  than  was  needed  ;  but  John  was  called  in 
Nepash  "  a  dre'dful  forecastin'  man,"  and  he  took 
warning  from  the  twins.  And  timely  warning  it 
proved,  for  as  the  years  slipped  by,  one  after  an 
other,  they  left  their  arrows  in  his  quiver,  till  ten 
children  bloomed  about  the  hearth.  The  old  cabin 
had  disappeared  entirely.  A  good-sized  frame  house 
of  one  story,  with  a  high-pitched  roof,  stood  in  its 
stead,  and  a  slab  fence  kept  roving  animals  out  of 
the  yard  and  saved  the  apple-trees  from  the  teeth 
of  stray  cows  and  horses. 

Poor  enough  they  were  still.  The  loom  in  the 
garret  always  had  its  web  ready,  the  great  wheel 
by  the  other  window  sung  its  busy  song  year  in  and 
year  out.  Dolly  was  her  mother's  right  hand  now ; 
and  the  twins,  Ralph  and  Reuben,  could  fire  the 
musket  and  chop  wood.  Sylvy,  the  fourth  child, 
was  the  odd  one.  All  the  rest  were  sturdy,  rosy, 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      127 

laughing  girls  and  boys;  but  Sylvy  had  been  a  j 
pining  baby,  and  grew  up  into  a  slender,  elegant 
creature,  with  clear  gray  eyes,  limpid  as  water, 
but  bright  as  stars,  and  fringed  with  long  golden 
lashes  the  color  of  her  beautiful  hair,  —  locks  that 
were  coiled  in  fold  on  fold  at  the  back  of  her  fine 
head,  like  wreaths  of  undyed  silk,  so  pale  was  their 
yellow  lustre.  She  bloomed  among  the  crowd  of 
red-cheeked,  dark-haired  lads  and  lasses,  stately 
and  incongruous  as  a  June  lily  in  a  bed  of  tulips. 
But  Sylvy  did  not  stay  at  home.  The  parson's 
lady  at  Litchfield  came  to  Nepash  one  Sunday, 
with  her  husband,  and,  seeing  Sylvia  in  the  square 
corner  pew,  with  the  rest,  was  mightily  struck  by 
her  lovely  face,  and  offered  to  take  her  home  with 
her  the  next  week,  for  the  better  advantages  of 
schooling.  Hannah  could  not  have  spared  Dolly  ; 
but  Sylvia  was  a  dreamy,  unpractical  child,  and,) 
though  all  the  dearer  for  being  the  solitary  lamb 
of  the  flock  by  virtue  of  her  essential  difference 
from  the  rest,  still,  for  that  very  reason,  it  became 
easier  to  let  her  go.  Parson  Everett  was  childless, 
and  in  two  years'  time  both  he  and  his  wife  adored 
the  gentle,  graceful  girl ;  and  she  loved  them 
dearly.  They  could  not  part  with  her,  and  at  last 
adopted  her  formally  as  their  daughter,  with  the 
unwilling  consent  of  John  and  Hannah.  Yet  they 
knew  it  was  greatly  "  for  Sylvy 's  betterment,"  as 
they  phrased  it ;  so  at  last  they  let  her  go. 

But  when  Dolly  was  a  sturdy  young  woman  of 
twenty-five  the  war-trumpet   blew,  and  John  and 


128      AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING. 

the  twins  heard  it  effectually.  There  was  a  sudden 
leaving  of  the  plough  in  the  furrow.  The  planting 
was  set  aside  for  the  children  to  finish,  the  old 
musket  rubbed  up,  and,  with  set  lips  and  resolute 
eyes,  the  three  men  walked  away  one  May  morning 
to  join  the  Nepash  company.  Hannah  kept  up  her 
smiling  courage  through  it  all.  If  her  heart  gave 
way,  nobody  knew  it  but  God  and  John.  The 
boys  she  encouraged  and  inspired,  and  the  children 
were  shamed  out  of  their  childish  tears  by  mother's 
bright  face  and  cheery  talk. 

Then  she  set  them  all  to  work.  There  was  corn 
to  plant,  wheat  to  sow,  potatoes  to  set ;  flax  and 
wool  to  spin  and  weave,  for  clothes  would  be  needed 
for  all,  both  absent  and  stay-at-homes.  There  was 
no  father  to  superintend  the  outdoor  work  ;  so 

I  Hannah  took  the  field,  and  marshaled  her  forces 
on  Nepasset  Brook  much  as  the  commander-in-chief 
was  doing  on  a  larger  scale  elsewhere.  Eben,  the 
biggest  boy,  and  Joey,  who  came  next  him,  were 
to  do  all  the  planting ;  Diana  and  Sam  took  on 
themselves  the  care  of  the  potato-patch,  the  fowls, 
and  the  cow ;  Dolly  must  spin  and  weave  when 
mother  left  either  the  wheel  or  loom  to  attend  to 
the  general  ordering  of  the  forces  ;  while  Obed  and 
Betty,  the  younglings  of  the  flock,  were  detailed  to 
weed,  pick  vegetables  (such  few  as  were  raised  in 
the  small  garden),  gather  berries,  herbs,  nuts,  hunt 
the  straying  turkeys'  nests,  and  make  themselves 
generally  useful.  At  evening  all  the  girls  sewed  ; 
the  boys  mended  their  shoes,  having  learned  so 


AN  OLD  FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      129 

much  from  a  traveling  cobbler ;  and  the  mother 
taught  them  all  her  small  stock  of  schooling  would! 
allow.  At  least,  they  each  knew  how  to  read,  and 
most  of  them  to  write,  after  a  very  uncertain  fash-j 
ion.  As  to  spelling,  nobody  knew  how  to  spell  in 
those  days.  Rank  and  fashion  did  not  imply  or 
thography.  It  has  even  been  whispered  by  the 
profane  and  iconoclastic  that  the  great  G.  "W.  him- 
self  would  have  been  the  first  to  sit  down  under  the 
superhuman  test  of  a  modern  spelling-match. 

But  they  did  know  the  four  simple  rules  of  arith 
metic,  and  could  say  the  epigrammatic  rhymes  of 
the  old  New  England  Primer  and  the  sibyllic  for 
mulas  of  the  Assembly's  Catechism  as  glibly  as  the 
child  of  to-day  repeats  "  The  House  that  Jack 
Built." 

So  the  summer  went  on.  The  corn  tasseled,  the 
wheat-ears  filled  well,  the  potatoes  hung  out  rich 
clusters  of  their  delicate  and  graceful  blossoms, 
beans  straggled  half  over  the  garden,  the  hens  did 
their  duty  bravely,  and  the  cow  produced  a  heifer 
calf. 

Father  and  the  boys  were  fighting  now,  and 
mother's  merry  words  were  more  rare,  though  her 
bright  face  still  wore  its  smiling  courage.  They 
heard  rarety  from  the  army.  Now  and  then  a  post- 
rider  stopped  at  the  Nepash  tavern  and  brought  a 
few  letters  or  a  little  news ;  but  this  was  at  long 
intervals,  and  women  who  watched  and  waited  at 
home  without  constant  mail  service  and  telegraphic 
flashes,  aware  that  news  of  disaster,  of  wounds,  of 


130      AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

illness,  could  only  reach  them  too  late  to  serve  or 
save  ;  and  that  to  reach  the  ill  or  the  dying  involved 
a  larger  and  more  disastrous  journey  than  the  sur 
vey  of  half  the  world  demands  now,  —  these  women 
endured  pangs  beyond  our  comprehension,  and  en 
dured  them  with  a  courage  and  patience  that  might 
have  furnished  forth  an  army  of  heroes,  that  did 
go  far  to  make  heroes  of  that  improvised,  ill-condi 
tioned,  eager  multitude  who  conquered  the  trained 
bands  of  their  oppressors  and  set  their  sons  "  free 
and  equal,"  to  use  their  own  dubious  phraseology, 
before  the  face  of  humanity  at  large. 

By  and  by  winter  came  on,  with  all  its  terrors. 
By  night  wolves  howled  about  the  lonely  house, 
and  sprung  back  over  the  palings  when  Eben  went 
to  the  door  with  his  musket.  Joe  hauled  wood 
from  the  forest  on  a  hand-sled  ;  and  Dolly  and 
Diana  took  it  in  through  the  kitchen  window,  when 
the  drifts  were  so  high  that  the  woodshed  door 
could  not  be  opened.  Besides,  all  the  hens  were 
gathered  in  the*re,  as  well  for  greater  warmth  as 
for  convenience  in  feeding,  and  the  barn  was  only 
to  be  reached  with  snowshoes  and  entered  by  the 
window  above  the  manger. 

Hard  times  these  were.  The  loom  in  the  garret 
could  not  be  used,  for  even  fingers  would  freeze  in 
that  atmosphere ;  so  the  thread  was  wound  off, 
twisted  on  the  great  wheel,  and  knit  into  stockings, 
the  boys  learning  to  fashion  their  own,  while  Han 
nah  knit  her  anxiety  and  her  hidden  heartaches 
into  socks  for  her  soldier-boys  and  their  father. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING.      131 

By  another  spring  the  aching  and  anxiousness 
were  a  little  dulled,  for  habit  blunts  even  the  keen 
edge  of  mortal  pain.  They  had  news  that  summer 
that  Ralph  had  been  severely  wounded,  but  had 
recovered ;  that  John  had  gone  through  a  sharp 
attack  of  camp-fever ;  that  Reuben  was  taken  pris 
oner,  but  escaped  by  his  own  wit.  Hannah  was 
thankful  and  grateful  beyond  expression.  Perhaps 
another  woman  would  have  wept  and  wailed,  to 
think  all  this  had  come  to  pass  without  her  know 
ledge  or  her  aid  ;  but  it  was  Hannah's  way  to  look 
at  the  bright  side  of  things.  Sylvia  would  always 
remember  how  once,  when  she  was  looking  at 
Mount  Tahconic,  darkened  by  a  brooding  tempest, 
its  crags  frowning  blackly  above  the  dark  forest 
at  its  foot  and  the  lurid  cloud  above  its  head  torn 
by  fierce  lances  of  light,  she  hid  her  head  in  her 
mother's  checked  apron,  in  the  helpless  terror  of 
an  imaginative  child ;  but,  instead  of  being  soothed 
and  pitied,  mother  had  only  laughed  a  little  gay 
laugh,  and  said  gently,  but  merrily  :  — 

"  Why,  Sylvy,  the  sun 's  right  on  the  other  side  ; 
only  you  don't  see  it." 

After  that  she  always  thought  her  mother  saw 
the  sun  when  nobody  else  could.  And  in  a  spirit 
ual  sense  it  was  true. 

Parson  Everett  rode  over  once  or  twice  from 
Litchfield  that  next  summer,  to  fetch  Sylvia  and  to 
administer  comfort  to  Hannah.  He  was  a  quaint, 
prim  little  gentleman,  neat  as  any  wren,  but  mild- 
mannered  as  wrens  never  are,  and  in  a  moderate 


132     AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

way  kindly  and  sympathetic.  When  the  children 
had  haled  their  lovely  sister  away  to  see  their  rustic 
possessions,  Parson  Everett  would  sit  down  in  a 
high  chair,  lay  aside  his  cocked  hat,  spread  his  silk 
pocket-handkerchief  over  his  knees,  and  prepare  to 
console  Hannah. 

"  Mistress  Perkins,  these  are  trying  times ;  try 
ing  times.  There  is  a  sound  of  a  going  in  the  tops 
of  the  mulberry-trees  —  h-m  !  Sea  and  waves  roar 
ing  of  a  truth  —  h-m !  h-m  !  I  trust,  Mistress  Per 
kins,  you  submit  to  the  Divine  Will  with  meekness." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Hannah,  with  a 
queer  little  twinkle  in  her  eye.  "  I  don't  believe  I 
be  as  meek  as  Moses,  parson.  I  should  like  things 
fixed  different,  to  speak  truth." 

"  Dear  me !     Dear  me  !  —  h-m !  h-m  !     My  good 

woman,  the  Lord  reigneth.       You  must  submit  ; 

you  must  submit.     You  know  it  is  the  duty  of  a 

1   vessel  of  wrath  to  be  broken  to  pieces,  if  it  glori- 

fieth  the  Maker." 

"  Well,  mebbe  't  is.     I  don't  know  much  about 

that  kind  o'  vessel.     I  've  got  to  submit  because 

there  ain't  anything  else  to  do,  as  I  see.     I  can't 

say  it  goes  easy  —  not  'n'  be  honest ;  but  I  try  to 

/  look  on  the  bright  side,  and  to  believe  the  Lord  '11 

take  care  of  my  folks  better  'n  I  could,  even  ef  they 

\was  here." 

"  H-m !  h-m  !  Well,"  —  stammered  the  embar 
rassed  parson,  completely  at  his  wits'  end  with  this 
cheerful  theology,  —  "  well,  I  hope  it  is  grace  that 
sustains  you,  Mistress  Perkins,  and  not  the  vain 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      133 

elation  of  the  natural  man.  The  Lord  is  in  his 
'holy  temple  ;  the  earth  is  his  footstool  —  h-m !  " 
The  parson  struggled  helplessly  with  a  tangle  of 
texts  here ;  but  the  right  one  seemed  to  fail  him, 
till  Hannah  audaciously  put  it  in  :  — 

"  Well,  you  know  what  it  says  about  takin'  care 
of  sparrers,  in  the  Bible,  and  how  we  was  more  val- 
erble  than  they  be,  a  lot.  That  kind  o'  text  comes 
home  these  times,  I  tell  ye.  You  fetch  a  person 
down  to  the  bed-rock,  as  Grandsir  Penlyn  used  to 
say,  and  then  they  know  where  they  be.  And  ef 
the  Lord  is  reely  the  Lord  of  all,  I  expect  He  '11 
take  care  of  all ;  'nd  I  don't  doubt  but  what  He  is 
an'  doos.  So  I  can  fetch  up  on  that." 

Parson  Everett  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  put  on  his 
cocked  hat,  and  blew  his  nose  ceremonially  with 
the  silk  handkerchief.  Not  that  he  needed  to  ;  but 
as  a  sort  of  shaking  off  of  the  dust  of  responsibility 
and  ending  the  conversation,  which,  if  it  was  not 
heterodox  on  Hannah's  part,  certainly  did  not  seem 
orthodox  to  him.  Yet  he  was  a  good  man,  and 
served  in  the  temple  with  all  his  placid  little  heart 
and  neat  little  brain  ;  and  of  him  the  Master  could 
say,  rather  than  of  many  a  larger  nature :  "  He  did 
what  he  could."  Greatest  of  all  eulogies  !  However, 
he  did  not  try  to  console  her  any  more ;  but  con 
tented  himself  with  the  stiller  spirits  in  his  own  par 
ish,  who  had  grown  up  in  and  after  his  own  fashion. 

Another  dreadful  winter  settled  down  on  Nepas- 
set  township.  There  was  food  enough  in  the  house 
and  firewood  in  the  shed ;  but  neither  food  nor  fire 


134     AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

seemed  to  assuage  the  terrible  cold,  and  with  de 
creased  vitality  decreased  courage  came  to  all.  Hy 
gienics  were  an  unforeseen  mystery  to  people  of  that 
day.  They  did  not  know  that  nourishing  food  is  as 
good  for  the  brain  as  for  the  muscles.  They  lived 
on  potatoes,  beets,  beans,  with  now  and  then  a  bit 
of  salt  pork  or  beef  boiled  in  the  pot  with  the  rest ; 
and  their  hearts  failed,  as  their  flesh  did,  with  this 
sodden  and  monotonous  diet.  One  ghastly  night 
Hannah  almost  despaired.  She  held  secret  council 
with  Dolly  and  Eben,  while  they  inspected  the 
potato-bin  and  the  pork-barrel,  as  to  whether  it 
would  not  be  best  for  them  to  break  up  and  find 
homes  elsewhere  for  the  winter.  Her  father  was 
old  and  feeble.  He  would  be  glad  to  have  her 
with  him,  and  Betty.  The  rest  were  all  old  enough 
to  "  do  chores  "  for  their  board,  and  there  were  many 
families  where  help  was  needed,  both  in  Nepash 
and  Litchfield,  since  every  available  man  had  gone 
to  the  war  by  this  time.  But  while  they  talked  a 
great  scuffling  and  squawking  in  the  woodhouse 
attracted  the  boys  up-stairs.  Joe  seized  the  tongs 
and  Diana  the  broomstick.  An  intruding  weasel 
was  pursued  and  slaughtered ;  but  not  till  two 
fowls,  fat  and  fine,  had  been  sacrificed  by  the  in 
vader  and  the  tongs  together.  The  children  were 
all  hungry,  with  the  exhaustion  of  the  cold  weather, 
and  clamored  to  have  these  victims  cooked  for  sup 
per.  Nor  was  Hannah  unmoved  by  the  appeal. 
Her  own  appetite  seconded.  The  savory  stew  came 
just  in  time.  It  roused  them  to  new  life  and  spir- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING.      135 

its.  Hannah  regained  courage,  wondering  how  she 
could  have  lost  heart  so  far,  and  said  to  Dolly,  as 
they  washed  up  the  supper-dishes  :  — 

"  I  guess  we  '11  keep  together,  Dolly.  It  '11  be 
spring  after  a  while,  and  we  '11  stick  it  out  to 
gether." 

"  I  guess  I  would,"  answered  Dolly.  "  And 
don't  you  b'lieve  we  should  all  feel  better  to  kill  off 
them  fowls, — all  but  two  or  three  ?  They  're  mas 
ter  hands  to  eat  corn,  and  it  does  seem  as  though 
that  biled  hen  done  us  all  a  sight  o'  good  to-night. 
Jest  hear  them  children  !  " 

And  it  certainly  was,  as  Hannah  said,  "  musical 
to  hear  'em."  Joe  had  a  cornstalk  fiddle,  and  Eben 
an  old  singing-book,  which  Diana  read  over  his 
shoulder  while  she  kept  on  knitting  her  blue  sock ; 
and  the  three  youngsters,  —  Sam,  Obed,  and  Betty, 
—  with  wide  mouths  and  intent  eyes,  followed  Di 
ana's  "  lining  out"  of  that  quaint  hymn  "The  Old 
Israelites,"  dwelling  with  special  gusto  and  power 
on  two  of  the  verses  :  — 

"  We  are  little,  't  is  true, 

And  our  numbers  are  few, 
And  the  sons  of  old  Anak  are  tall ; 

But  while  I  see  a  track 

I  will  never  go  back, 
But  go  on  at  the  risk  of  my  all. 

"  The  way  is  all  new, 

As  it  opens  to  view, 
And  behind  is  the  foaming  Red  Sea ; 

So  none  now  need  to  speak 

Of  the  onions  and  leeks 
Or  to  talk  about  garlics  to  me !  " 


136      AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING. 

Hannah's  face  grew  brighter  still.  "  We  '11  stay 
right  here  !  "  she  said,  adding  her  voice  to  the  sin 
gular  old  ditty  with  all  her  power :  — 

"  What  though  some  in  the  rear 

Preach  up  terror  and  fear, 
And  complain  of  the  trials  they  meet, 

Tho'  the  giants  before 

With  great  fury  do  roar, 
I  'm  resolved  I  can  never  retreat." 

And  in  this  spirit,  sustained,  no  doubt,  by  the 
occasional  chickens,  they  lived  the  winter  out,  till 
blessed,  beneficent  spring  came  again,  and  brought 
news,  great  news,  with  it.  Not  from  the  army, 
though.  There  had  been  a  post-rider  in  Nepash 
during  the  January  thaw  ;  and  he  brought  short 
letters  only.  There  was  about  to  be  a  battle,  and 
there  was  no  time  to  write  more  than  assurances  of 
health  and  good  hopes  for  the  future.  Only  once 
since  had  news  reached  them  from  that  quarter. 
A  disabled  man  from  the  Nepash  company  was 
brought  home  dying  with  consumption.  Hannah 
felt  almost  ashamed  to  rejoice  in  the  tidings  he 
brought  of  John's  welfare,  when  she  heard  his 
husky  voice,  saw  his  worn  and  ghastly  countenance, 
and  watched  the  suppressed  agony  in  his  wife's 
eyes.  The  words  of  thankfulness  she  wanted  to 
speak  would  have  been  so  many  stabs  in  that  wo 
man's  breast.  It  was  only  when  her  eight  children 
rejoiced  in  the  hearing  that  she  dared  to  be  happy. 
But  the  other  news  was  from  Sylvia.  She  was 
promised  to  the  schoolmaster  in  Litchfield.  Only  to 
think  of  it !  Our  Sylvy  ! 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      137 

Master  Loomis  had  been  eager  to  go  to  the  war ; 
but  his  mother  was  a  poor  bed-rid  woman,  depen 
dent  on  him  for  support,  and  all  the  dignitaries  of 
the  town  combined  in  advising  and  urging  him  to 
stay  at  home,  for  the  sake  of  their  children,  as  well 
as  his  mother.     So  at  home  he  stayed,  and  fell  into 
/,  peril  of  heart,  instead  of  life  and  limb,  under  the 
I   soft  fire  of  Sylvia's   eyes,  instead  of  the  enemy's 
\  artillery.     Parson  Everett  could  not  refuse  his  con 
sent,  though  he  and  madam  were  both  loth  to  give 
up  their  sweet  daughter.     But   since  she  and  the 
youth   seemed  to  be  both  of  one  mind  about  the 
matter,  and  he  being  a  godly  young  man,  of  decent 
parentage  and  in  a  good  way  of  earning  his  living, 
there  was  no  more  to  be  said.     They  would  wait  a 
year  before  thinking  of  marriage,  both   for  better 
acquaintance  and  on  account  of  the  troubled  times. 
"  Mayhap  the  times  will  mend,  sir,"  anxiously 
suggested  the  schoolmaster  to  Parson  Everett. 

"  I  think  not,  I  think  not,  Master  Loomis. 
There  is  a  great  blackness  of  darkness  in  hand, 
the  Philistines  be  upon  us,  and  there  is  moving  to 
and  fro.  Yea,  behemoth  lifted  himself  and  shaketh 
his  mane  —  h-m  !  —  ah !  h-m  !  It  is  not  a  time  for 
marrying  and  giving  in  marriage,  for  playing  on 
sackbuts  and  dulcimers  —  h-m  !  " 

A  quiet  smile  flickered  round  Master  Loomis's 
mouth  as  he  turned  away,  solaced  by  a  shy,  sweet 
look  from  Sylvia's  limpid  eyes,  as  he  peeped  into 
the  keeping-room,  where  she  sat  with  madam,  on 
his  way  out.  He  could  afford  to  wait  a  year  for 


138      AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

such  a  spring-blossom  as  that,  surely.  And  wait 
he  did,  with  commendable  patience;  comforting 
his  godly  soul  with  the  fact  that  Sylvia  was  spared 
meantime  the  daily  tendence  and  care  of  a  fretful 
old  woman  like  his  mother;  for,  though  Master 
Loomis  was  the  best  of  sons,  that  did  not  blind  him 
to  the  fact  that  the  irritability  of  age  and  illness 
were  fully  developed  in  his  mother,  and  he  alone 
seemed  to  have  the  power  of  calming  her.  She 
liked  Sylvia  at  first ;  but  became  frantically  jealous 
of  her  as  soon  as  she  suspected  her  son's  attach- 
'  ment.  So  the  summer  rolled  away.  Hannah  and 
1  her  little  flock  tilled  their  small  farm  and  gathered 
)  plenteous  harvest.  Mindful  of  last  year's  experi- 
'  ence,  they  raised  brood  after  brood  of  chickens, 
and  planted  extra  acres  of  corn  for  their  feeding, 
so  that  when  autumn  came,  with  its  vivid,  splen 
did  days,  its  keen  winds  and  turbulent  skies,  the 
new  chicken  -  yard,  which  the  boys  had  worked  at 
through  the  summer,  with  its  wattled  fence,  its  own 
tiny  spring,  and  lofty  covered  roosts,  swarmed  with 
chickens,  ducks,  and  turkeys.  Many  a  dollar  was 
brought  home  about  Thanksgiving  time  for  the 
fat  fowls  sold  in  Litchfield  and  Nepash ;  but  dol 
lars  soon  vanished  in  buying  winter  clothes  for  so 
many  children,  or,  rather,  in  buying  wool  to  spin 
and  weave  for  them.  Mahala  Green,  the  village 
tailoress,  came  to  fashion  the  garments,  and  the 
girls  sewed  them.  Uncouth  enough  was  their  as 
pect ;  but  Fashion  did  not  yet  reign  in  Nepash, 
and,  if  they  were  warm,  who  cared  for  elegance  ? 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      139 

Not  Hannah's  rosy,  hearty,  ha-ppy  brood.  They 
sang,  and  whistled,  and  laughed  with  a  force  and 
freedom  that  was  kin  to  the  birds  and  squirrels 
among  whom  they  lived ;  and  Hannah's  kindly, 
cheery  face  lit  up  as  she  heard  them,  while  a  half 
sigh  told  that  her  husband  and  her  soldier  boys 
were  still  wanting  to  her  perfect  contentment. 

At  last  they  were  all  housed  snugly  for  winter,  j 
The  woodpile  was  larger  than  ever  before,  and  all ' 
laid  up  in  the  shed,  beyond  which  a  rough  shelter 
of  chinked  logs  had  been  put  up  for  the  chickens, 
to  which  their  roosts  and  nest-boxes,  of  coarse 
wicker,  boards  nailed  together,  hollow  bark  from 
the  hemlock  logs,  even  worn-out  tin  pails,  had  all 
been  transferred.  The  cellar  had  been  well  banked 
from  the  outside,  and  its  darksome  cavern  held 
good  store  of  apples,  pork,  and  potatoes.  There 
was  dried  beef  in  the  stairway,  squashes  in  the 
cupboard,  flour  in  the  pantry,  and  the  great  gentle 
black  cow  in  the  barn  was  a  wonderful  milker. 
In  three  weeks  Thanksgiving  would  come,  and  even 
Hannah's  brave  heart  sank  as  she  thought  of  her 
absent  husband  and  boys  ;  and  their  weary  faces 
rose  up  before  her  as  she  numbered  over  to  herself 
her  own  causes  for  thankfulness,  as  if  to  say :  "  Can 
you  keep  Thanksgiving  without  us  ?  "  Poor  Han 
nah  !  She  did  her  best  to  set  these  thankless 
thoughts  aside,  but  almost  dreaded  the  coming  fes 
tival.  One  night,  as  she  sat  knitting  by  the  fire, 
a  special  messenger  from  Litchfield  rode  up  to  the 
door  and  brought  stirring  news.  Master  Loomis's 


140      AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING. 

mother  was  dead,  and  the  master  himself,  seeing 
there  was  a  new  levy  of  troops,  was  now  going  to 
the  war.  But  before  he  went  there  was  to  be  a  wed 
ding,  and,  in  the  good  old  fashion,  it  should  be  on 
Thanksgiving  Day,  and  Madam  Everett  had  bid 
den  as  many  of  Sylvy's  people  to  the  feast  as  would 
come. 

There  was  great  excitement  as  Hannah  read  aloud 
the  madam's  note.  The  tribe  of  Perkins  shouted 
for  joy ;  but  a  sudden  chill  fell  on  them  when 
mother  spoke. 

"  Now,  children,  hush  up  !  I  want  to  speak  my 
self,  ef  it 's  a  possible  thing  to  git  in  a  word  edge 
ways.  We  can't  all  go,  fust  and  foremost.  'T  ain't 
noways  possible." 

"Oh,  mother!  Why?  Oh,  do!  Not  go  to 
Sylvy's  wedding?"  burst  in  the  "infinite  deep 
chorus  "  of  youngsters. 

"  No,  you  can't.  There  ain't  no  team  in  the 
county  big  enough  to  hold  ye  all,  if  ye  squeeze  ever 
so  much.  I  've  got  to  go,  for  Sylvy  'd  be  beat  out, 
if  mother  did  n't  come.  And  Dolly 's  the  oldest. 
She  's  got  a  right  to  go." 

Loud  protest  was  made  against  the  right  of  pri 
mogeniture  ;  but  mother  was  firm. 

"  Says  so  in  the  Bible.  Leastways,  Bible  folks 
always  acted  so.  The  first-born,  ye  know.  Dolly  's 
goin',  sure.  Eben  's  got  to  drive  ;  and  I  must  take 
Obed.  He  'd  be  the  death  of  somebody,  with  his 
everlastin'  mischief,  if  I  left  him  to  home.  Mebbe 
I  can  squeeze  in  Betty,  to  keep  him  company.  Joe 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      141 

and  Sam  and  Dianner  won't  be  more  'n  enough  to 
take  care  o'  the  cows,  and  chickens,  and  fires,  and 
all.  Likewise  of  each  other." 

Sam  set  up  a  sudden  howl  at  his  sentence,  and 
\kicked  the  mongreL^eUo^  puppy,  who  leaped  on 
liim  to  console  him,  till  that  long-suffering  beast 
yelped  in  concert. 

Diana  sniffed  and  snuffled,  scrubbed  her  eyes 
with  her  checked  apron,  and  rocked  back  and 
forth. 

"  Now,  stop  it !  "  bawled  Joe.  "  For  the  land's 
sake,  quit  all  this  noise.  We  can't  all  on  us  go ;  'n' 
for  my  part,  I  don't  want  to.  We  '11  hev  a  weddin' 
of  our  own  some  clay !  "  and  here  he  gave  a  sly  look 
at  Dolly,  who  seemed  to  understand  it  and  blushed 
like  an  apple-blossom,  while  Joe  went  on :  "  Then 
we  '11  all  stay  to  't,  I  tell  ye,  'nd  have  a  right  down 
old  country  time." 

Mother  had  to  laugh. 

"  So  you  shall,  Joe,  and  dance  '  Money  Mask  ' 
all  night,  if  you  want  to,  —  same  as  you  did  to  the 
corn-huskin'.  Now,  let 's  see.  Betty,  she 's  got 
that  chintz  gown  that  was  your  Sunday  best,  Dolly, 
—  the  flowered  one,  you  know,  that  Dianner  out- 
growed.  We  must  fix  them  lawn  ruffles  into  't ; 
and  there  's  a  blue  ribbin  laid  away  in  my  chest  o' 
drawers,  that  '11  tie  her  hair.  It 's  dreadful  lucky 
we've  got  new  shoes  all  round:  and  Obed's  coat 
and  breeches  is  as  good  as  new,  ef  they  be  made 
out  of  his  pa's  weddin'  suit.  That 's  the  good  o' 
good  cloth.  It  '11  last  most  forever.  Joe  hed  'em 


142      AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

first,  then  Sam  wore  'em  quite  a  spell,  and  they  cut 
over  jest  right  for  Oby.  My  black  paduasoy  can  be 
fixed  up,  I  guess.  But,  my  stars !  Dolly,  what  hev 
you  got?" 

"  Well,  mother,  you  know  I  hain't  got  a  real  good 
gown.  There  's  the  black  lutestring  petticoat  Sylvy 
fetched  me,  two  years  ago ;  but  there  ain't  any 
gown  to  it.  We  calculated  I  could  wear  that  linsey 
jacket  to  meeting,  under  my  coat ;  but  't  would  n't 
do  rightly  for  a  weddinV 

"  That 's  gospel  truth.  You  can't  wear  that  any 
how.  You  've  got  to  hev  somethin'.  'T  won't  do  to 
go  to  Sylvy's  weddin'  in  linsey  woolsey ;  but  I  don't 
believe  there  's  more  'n  two  hard  dollars  in  the  house. 
There  's  a  few  Continentals ;  but  I  don't  count  on 
them.  Joe,  you  go  over  to  the  mill  fust  thing  in 
the  morning  and  ask  Sylvester  to  lend  me  his  old 
mare  a  spell  to-morrer,  to  ride  over  to  Nepash,  to 
the  store." 

"  Why  don't  ye  send  Doll  ?  "  asked  Joe,  with 
a  wicked  glance  at  the  girl,  that  set  her  blushing 
again. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Joseph,  'n'  mind  me.  It 's 
bedtime  now ;  but  I  '11  wake  ye  up  airly,"  energet 
ically  remarked  Hannah.  And  next  day,  equipped 
in  cloak  and  hood,  she  climbed  the  old  mare's  fat 
sides  and  jogged  off  on  her  errand ;  and  by  noon- 
mark  was  safe  and  sound  home  again,  looking  a 
little  perplexed,  but  by  no  means  cast  down. 

"  Well,  Dolly,"  said  she,  as  soon  as  cloak  and 
hood  were  laid  aside,  "  there  's  the  beautifulest 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING.      143 

piece  of  chintz  over  to  the  store  you  ever  see,  — • 
jest  enough  for  a  gown.  It 's  kind  o'  buff-colored 
ground,  flowered  all  over  with  roses,  —  deep  red 
roses,  as  nateral  as  life.  Squire  Dart  wouldn't 
take  no  money  for  't.  He 's  awful  sharp  about 
them  new  bills.  Sez  they  ain't  no  more  'n  corn- 
husks.  Well,  we  hain't  got  a  great  lot  of  'em,  so 
there  's  less  to  lose,  and  some  folks  will  take  'em  ; 
but  he  '11  let  me  have  the  chintz  for  'leven  yards  o' 
soldier's  cloth,  —  blue,  ye  know,  like  what  we  sent 
pa  and  the  boys.  And  I  spent  them  two  silver 
dollars  on  a  white  gauze  neck-kercher  and  a  piece 
of  red  satin  ribbin  for  ye,  for  I  'm  set  on  that 
chintz.  Now,  hurry  up  'nd  fix  the  loom  right  off. 
The  web  's  ready,  then  we  '11  card  the  wool.  I  '11 
lay  ye  a  penny  we  '11  have  them  'leven  yards  wove 
by  Friday.  To-day 's  Tuesday,  Thanksgiving  comes 
a  Thursday  week,  an'  ef  we  have  the  chintz  by  sun 
down  a  Saturday  there  '11  be  good  store  of  time  for 
Mahaly  Green  and  you  to  make  it  afore  Wednes 
day  night.  We  '11  hev  a  kind  of  a  Thanksgiving, 
after  all.  But  I  wisht  your  pa  "  —  The  sentence 
ended  in  Hannah's  apron  at  her  eyes,  and  Dolly 
looked  sober ;  but  in  a  minute  she  dimpled  and 
brightened,  for  the  pretty  chintz  gown  was  more  to 
her  than  half  a  dozen  costly  French  dresses  to  a 
girl  of  to-day.  But  a  little  cloud  suddenly  put  out 
the  dimples. 

"  But,  mother,  if  somebody  else  should  buy  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  won't.     I  've  fixed  that.      I  promised 

to  fetch  the  cloth  inside  of  a  week,  and  Squire  Dart 


144      AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING. 

laid  away  the  chintz  for  me  till  that  time.  Fetch 
the  wool,  Dolly,  before  you  set  up  the  web,  so  's  I 
can  start." 

The  wool  was  carded,  spun,  washed,  and  put  into 
the  dye-tub,  one  "run"  of  yarn  that  night;  and 
another  spun  and  washed  by  next  day's  noon,  — for 
lie  stuff  was  to  be  checked,  and  black  wool  needed 
dyeing.  Swiftly  hummed  the  wheel,  merrily 
flew  the  shuttle,  and  the  house  steamed  with  inodor 
ous  dye ;  but  nobody  cared  for  that,  if  the  cloth 
could  only  be  finished.  And  finished  it  was,  —  the 
jiull  measure  and  a  yard  over ;  and  011  Saturday 
morning  Sylvester's  horse  was  borrowed  again,  and 
Hannah  came  back  from  the  village  beaming  with 
pleasure,  and  bringing  besides  the  chintz  a  yard  of 
real  cushion  lace,  to  trim  the  ruffles  for  Dolly's 
sleeves,  for  which  she  had  bartered  the  over  yard  of 
cloth  and  two  dozen  fresh  eggs.  Then  even  busier 
times  set  in.  Mahala  Green  had  already  arrived, 
for  she  was  dressmaker  as  well  as  tailoress,  and 
was  sponging  and  pressing  over  the  black  padua- 
soy  that  had  once  been  dove-colored  and  was  Han 
nah's  sole  piece  of  wedding  finery,  handed  down 
from  her  grandmother's  wardrobe  at  that.  A  dark 
green  grosgrain  petticoat  and  white  lawn  ruffles 
made  a  sufficiently  picturesque  attire  for  Hannah, 
whose  well-silvered  hair  set  off  her  still  sparkling 
eyes  and  clear,  healthy  skin.  She  appeared  in  this 
unwonted  finery  on  Thanksgiving  morning  to  her 
admiring  family,  having  added  a  last  touch  of 
adornment  by  a  quaint  old  jet  necklace,  that  glit- 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      145 

tered  on  the  pure  lawn  neck-kerchief  with  as  good 
effect  as  a  chain  of  diamonds  and  much  more  fit 
ness.  Betty,  in  her  striped  blue-and-white  chintz, 
a  clean  dimity  petticoat,  and  a  blue  ribbon  round 
her  short  brown  curls,  looked  like  a  cabbage  rose 
bud,  —  so  sturdy  and  wholesome  and  rosy  that  no 
more  delicate  symbol  suits  her. 

Obed  was  dreadful  in  the  old-fashioned  costume 
of  coat  and  breeches,  ill-fitting  and  shiny  with  wear, 
and  his  freckled  face  and  round  shock  head  of  tan- 
colored  hair  thrown  into  full  relief  by  a  big,  square 
collar  of  coarse  tatten  lace,  laid  out  on  his  shoul 
ders  like  a  barber's  towel,  and  illustrating  the  great 
red  ears  that  stood  out  at  right  angles  above  it. 
But  Obed  was  only  a  boy.  He  was  not  expected 
to  be  more  than  clean  and  speechless ;  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  Eben,  being  in  the  hobbledehoy  stage  of 
boyhood, — gaunt,  awkward,  and  self-sufficient, — 
rather  surpassed  his  small  brother  in  unpleasant 
aspect  and  manner.  But  who  would  look  at  the 
boys  when  Dolly  stood  beside  them,  as  she  did  now, 
tall  and  slender,  with  the  free  grace  of  an  untram- 
meled  figure,  her  small  head  erect,  her  eyes  dark 
and  soft  as  a  deer's,  neatly  clothed  feet  (not  too 
small  for  her  height)  peeping  from  under  the  black 
lutestring  petticoat,  and  her  glowing  brunette  com 
plexion  set  off  by  the  picturesque  buff-and-garnet 
chintz  gown,  while  her  round  throat  and  arms  were 
shaded  by  delicate  gauze  and  snowy  lace,  and  about 
her  neck  lay  her  mother's  gold  beads,  now  and  then 
tangling  in  the  heavy  black  curls  that,  tied  high  on 


146      AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

her  head  with  a  garnet  ribbon,  still  dropped  in  rich 
luxuriance  to  her  trim  waist. 

The  family  approved  of  Dolly,  no  doubt,  though 
their  phrases  of  flattery  were  as  homely  as  heartfelt. 

"  Orf  ul  slick-lookin',  ain't  she  ?  "  confided  Joe 
to  Eben ;  while  sinful  Sam  shrieked  out :  "  Land 
o'  Goshen !  ain't  our  Dolly  smart  ?  Sha'n't  I  fetch 
Sylvester  over  ?  " 

For  which  I  regret  to  state  Dolly  smartly  boxed 
his  ears. 

But  the  pung  was  ready,  and  Sam's  howls  had  to 
die  out  uncomforted.  With  many  parting  charges 
from  Hannah  about  the  fires  and  the  fowls,  the 
cow,  the  hasty -pudding,  already  put  on  for  its  long 
boil,  and  the  turkey  that  hung  from  a  string  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and  must  be  watched  well,  since 
it  was  the  Thanksgiving  dinner,  the  "  weddingers," 
as  Joe  called  them,  were  well  packed  in  with  blan 
kets  and  hot  stones  and  set  off  on  their  long  drive. 

The  day  was  fair  and  bright,  the  fields  of  snow 
purely  dazzling ;  but  the  cold  was  fearful,  and,  in 
spite  of  all  their  wraps,  the  keen  winds  that  whis 
tled  over  those  broad  hilltops  where  the  road  lay 
seemed  to  pierce  their  very  bones,  and  they  were 
,  heartily  glad  to  draw  up,  by  twelve  o'clock,  at  the 
door  of  the  parsonage  and  be  set  before  a  blazing 
fire,  and  revived  with  sundry  mugs  of  foaming  and 
steaming  flip,  made  potent  with  a  touch  of  old  peach 
brandy  ;  for  in  those  ancient  days,  even  in  parson 
ages,  the  hot  poker  knew  its  office  and  sideboards 
were  not  in  vain. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING.      147 

There  was  food  also  for  the  exhausted  guests, 
though  the  refection  was  slight  and  served  infor 
mally  in  the  kitchen  corner,  for  the  ceremonial 
Thanksgiving  dinner  was  to  be  deferred  till  after 
the  wedding.  And  as  soon  as  all  were  warmed 
and  refreshed  they  were  ushered  into  the  great 
parlor,  where  a  Turkey  carpet,  amber  satin  cur 
tains,  spider-legged  chairs  and  tables,  and  a  vast 
carved  sofa,  cushioned  also  with  amber,  made  a 
regal  and  luxurious  show  in  the  eyes  of  our  rustic 
observers. 

But  when  Sylvy  came  in  with  the  parson,  who 
could  look  at  furniture?  Madam  Everett  had 
lavished  her  taste  and  her  money  on  the  lovely 
creature,  as  if  she  were  her  own  daughter ;  for  she 
was  almost  as  dear  to  that  tender,  childless  soul. 
The  girl's  lustrous  gold-brown  hair  was  dressed 
high  upon  her  head  in  soft  puffs  and  glittering 
curls,  and  a  filmy  thread-lace  scarf  pinned  across  it 
with  pearl-headed  pins.  Her  white  satin  petticoat 
showed  its  rich  lustre  under  a  lutestring  gown  of 
\palest  rose,  brocaded  with  silver  sprigs  and  looped 
with  silver  ribbon  and  pink  satin  roses.  Costly 
lace  clung  about  her  neck  and  arms,  long  kid  gloves 
covered  her  little  hands  and  wrists  and  met  the 
delicate  sleeve-ruffles,  and  about  her  white  throat  a 
great  pink  topaz  clasped  a  single  string  of  pearls. 
Hannah  could  scarce  believe  her  eyes.  Was  this 
her  Sylvy  ?  —  she  who  even  threw  Madam  Everett, 
with  her  velvet  dress,  powdered  hair,  and  Mechlin 
laces,  quite  into  the  background  I 


148      AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING. 

"  I  did  not  like  it,  mammy  dear,"  whispered 
Sylvy,  as  she  clung  round  her  astonished  mother's 
neck.  "  I  wanted  a  muslin  gown  ;  but  madam  had 
laid  this  by  long  ago,  and  I  could  not  thwart  or 
grieve  her,  she  is  so  very  good  to  me." 

"  No  more  you  could,  Sylvy.  The  gown  is  amaz 
ing  fine,  to  be  sure ;  but  as  long  as  my  Sylvy 's  in 
side  of  it  1  won't  gainsay  the  gown.  It  ain't  a  speck 
too  pretty  for  the  wearer,  dear."  And  Hannah 
gave  her  another  hug.  The  rest  scarce  dared  to 
touch  that  fair  face,  except  Dolly,  who  threw  her 
arms  about  her  beautiful  sister,  with  little  thought 
of  her  garments,  but  a  sudden  passion  of  love  and 
regret  sending  the  quick  blood  to  her  dark  brows 
and  wavy  hair  in  a  scarlet  glow. 

Master  Loomis  looked  on  with  tender  eyes.  He 
felt  the  usual  masculine  conviction  that  nobody 
loved  Sylvy  anywhere  near  as  much  as  he  did ; 
but  it  pleased  him  to  see  that  she  was  dear  to  her 
family.  The  parson,  however,  abruptly  put  an 
end  to  the  scene. 

"  H-m !  my  dear  friends,  let  us  recollect  our 
selves.  There  is  a  time  for  all  things.  Yea,  earth 
yieldeth  her  increase  —  h-m  !  The  Lord  ariseth  to 
shake  visibly  the  earth  —  ahem !  Sylvia,  will  you 
stand  before  the  sophy?  Master  Lumrnis  on  the 
right  side.  Let  us  pray." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  the  words  a  great  knock 
ing  pealed  through  the  house  ;  the  brass  lion's  head 
on  the  front  door  beat  a  reveille  loud  and  long. 
The  parson  paused,  and  Sylvia  grew  whiter  than 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      149 

before ;  while  Decius,  the  Parson's  factotum,  a 
highly  respectable  old  negro  (who,  with  his  wife 
and  daughter,  sole  servants  of  the  house,  had  stolen 
in  to  see  the  ceremony),  ambled  out  to  the  vestibule 
in  most  undignified  haste.  There  came  sounds  of 
dispute,  much  tramping  of  boots,  rough  voices,  and 
quick  words;  then  a  chuckle  from  Decius,  the  parlor 
door  burst  open,  and  three  bearded,  ragged,  eager 
men  rushed  in  upon  the  little  company. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  of  wonder  and 
doubt,  then  a  low  cry  from  Hannah,  as  she  flew 
into  her  husband's  arms  ;  and  in  another  second 
the  whole  family  had  closed  around  the  father  and 
brothers,  and  for  once  the  hardy,  stern,  reticent 
New  England  nature,  broken  up  from  its  founda-j 
tions,  disclosed  its  depths  of  tenderness  and  fidel-f  • 
ity.  There  were  tears,  choking  sobs,  cries  of  joy.\ 
The  madam  held  her  laced  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  with  real  need  of  it ;  Master  Loomis  choked 
for  sympathy,  and  the  parson  blew  his  nose  on  the 
ceremonial  bandanna  like  the  trumpet  of  a  cavalry 
charge. 

"  Let  us  pray!  "  said  he,  in  a  loud  but  broken 
voice ;  and,  holding  fast  to  the  back  of  the  chair,  he 
poured  out  his  soul  and  theirs  before  the  Lord, 
with  all  the  fervor  and  the  fluency  of  real  feeling. 
There  was  no  stumbling  over  misapplied  texts  now, 
no  awkward  objections  in  his  throat,  but  only  glow 
ing  Bible  words  of  thankfulness  and  praise  and  joy. 
And  every  heart  was  uplifted  and  calm  as  they 
joined  in  the  Ameu. 


150      AN  OLD-FASHIONED  THANKSGIVING. 

John's  story  was  quickly  told.  Their  decimated 
regiment  was  disbanded,  to  be  reformed  of  fresh 
^  I  recruits,  and  a  long  furlough  given  to  the  faithful 
*  I  but  exhausted  remnant.  They  had  left  at  once  for 
home,  and  their  shortest  route  lay  through  Litch- 
field.  Night  was  near  when  they  reached  the 
town  ;  but  they  must  needs  stop  to  get  one  glimpse 
of  Sylvy  and  tidings  from  home,  for  fear  lay  upon 
them  lest  there  might  be  trouble  there  which  they 
knew  not  of.  So  they  burst  in  upon  the  wedding. 
But  Master  Loomis  began  to  look  uneasy.  Old 
Dorcas  had  slipped  out,  to  save  the  imperiled  din 
ner,  and  Pokey,  the  maid  (jiee  Pocahontas !),  could 
be  heard  clinking  glass  and  silver  and  pushing 
about  chairs ;  but  the  happy  family  were  still  ab 
sorbed  in  each  other. 

"  Mister  Everett !  "  said  the  madam,  with  dignity, 
and  the  little  minister  trotted  rapturously  over  to 
her  chair,  to  receive  certain  low  orders. 

"  Yes,  verily,  yes  —  h-m  !  A  —  my  friends,  we 
are  assembled  in  this  place  this  evening  "  — 

A  sharp  look  from  madam  recalled  him  to  the 
fact  that  this  was  not  a  prayer-meeting. 

"  A  —  that  is,  —  yes,  of  a  truth  our  purpose  this 
afternoon  was  to  "  — 

"  That 's  so !  "  energetically  put  in  Captain  John. 
Eight  about  face  !  Form !  "  and  the  three  Conti 
nentals  sprung  to  their  feet  and  assumed  their  po 
sition,  while  Sylvy  and  Master  Loomis  resumed 
theirs,  a  flitting  smile  in  Sylvia's  tearful  eyes  mak 
ing  a  very  rainbow. 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED   THANKSGIVING.      151 

So  the  ceremony  proceeded  to  the  end,  and  was 
wound  up  with  a  short  prayer,  concerning  which 
Captain  Perkins  irreverently  remarked  to  his  wife, 
some  days  after  :  — 

"  Parson  smelt  the  turkey,  sure  as  shootin',  Han 
nah.  He  shortened  up  so  'mazin'  quick  on  that 
prayer.  I  tell  you  I  was  glad  on  't.  I  knew  how 
he  felt.  I  could  ha'  ate  a  wolf  myself." 

Then  they  all  moved  in  to  the  dinner-table,  —  a 
strange  group,  from  Sylvia's  satin  and  pearls  to  the 
ragged  fatigue-dress  of  her  father  and  brothers ; 
but  there  was  no  help  for  that  now,  and  really  it 
troubled  nobody.  The  shade  of  anxiety  in  mad 
am's  eye  was  caused  only  by  a  doubt  as  to  the 
sufficiency  of  her  supplies  for  three  unexpected  and 
ravenous  guests ;  but  a  look  at  the  mighty  turkey, 
the  crisp  roast  pig,  the  cold  ham,  the  chicken  pie, 
and  the  piles  of  smoking  vegetables,  with  a  long 
vista  of  various  pastries,  apples,  nuts,  and  pitchers 
of  cider  on  the  buffet,  and  an  inner  consciousness 
of  a  big  Indian  pudding,  for  twenty-four  hours 
simmering  in  the  pot  over  the  fire,  reassured  her, 
and  perhaps  heartened  up  the  parson,  for  after  a 
long  grace  he  still  kept  his  feet  and  added,  with  a 
kindly  smile  :  — 

"  Brethren  and  friends,  you  are  heartily  welcome. 
Eat  and  be  glad,  for  seldom  hath  there  been  such 
cause  and  need  to  keep  a  Thanksgiving  !  " 

And  they  all  said  Amen ! 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

"  SAY,  Josiah,  let 's  get  up  a  f am'ly  gatherin', 
same  as  other  folks  do." 

"  I  'd  like  to  see  a  Hopson  gatherin' !  Folks 
would  say  't  was  an  ant-hill  on  a  bender,  Ozia^. 
We  're  all  too  little.  'T  won't  do  to  make  our 
shortcoming  public,  as  you  may  say." 

"  Well,  I  'd  ruther  be  little  and  good  than  be  an 
Irish  giant.  I  don't  never  hanker  after  between- 
iiess.  It  goes  quite  a  ways  to  be  somethin'  nobody 
else  is.  Now  there  's  them  Schuylers,  the  grandees 
over  to  Newton.  They  do  say  —  and  I  guess  it 's 
so  —  that  they  're  always  a-talkin'  pompious  about 
the  '  Schuyler  nub,'  a  kind  of  a  bunion,  like,  that 
grows  on  to  the  outside  of  their  hands.  Why, 
they  think  the  world  on  't,  because  the  Schuylers 
all  hev  hed  it  as  long  as  the  memory  of  man  en- 
dureth  not  to  the  contrary.  I  'd  jest  as  lives  be 
little  as  hev  a  nub." 

"Do  tell!  -Well,  Ozy,  folks  is  folksy,  ain't 
they  ?  Come  to  think  on  't,  there  's  a  tribe  over 
to  Still  River  they  call  the  Sandy  Steeles,  all  of 
'em  red-heads.  It 's  pop'lar  to  call  'em  sandy,  but 
you  could  warm  your  hands  real  well,  the  coldest 
day  in  winter,  to  any  crop  amongst  'em.  Carrots 
ain't  nowhere  ;  it 's  coals." 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  153 

"  Anyhow,  'Siah,  if  we  are  little,  we  're  spry, 
and  that 's  half  the  battle.  Moreover,  there  have  n't 
none  of  us  been  hanged,  nor  put  into  state's-prison, 
nor  yet  seen  the  inside  of  no  jail." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Josiah. 

Ozias  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  deep-set  eye. 

"  Expectin'  on  't,  be  ye  ?  " 

Josiah  laughed. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  be  ;  but  life  's  chock-full  of 
onexpectedness.  There  ;  there  's  the  meetin'  bell. 
Conie  over  to-night,  will  ye,  after  sundown.  We  '11 
talk  this  here  matter  over  deliberate  then.  The 
idee  kinder  takes  hold  of  me." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  drop  in.  'Mandy  '11  be  real  willin' 
to  get  rid  of  me  for  a  spell.  Ye  see,  Obed's  first 
wife's  boy  's  to  home,  and  it  seems  as  though  he 
was  a-thinkin'  about  sparkin'  my  girl.  I  don't 
know.  It's  pecooliar,  anyway,  how  quick  girls 
gets  to  be  women-folks.  I  never  see  the  beat  on  't. 
'T  is  snip,  snap,  so  to  speak.  Makes  me  think  of 
Priest  Hawes's  favoright  hymn,  or  one  line  on  't, 
that  he  used  to  come  down  on  real  sollum :  — 

'  The  creturs  —  look,  how  old  they  grow  ! '  " 

"  Hope  you  don't  foller  that  kotation  out  en 
tire,"  said  Josiah,  "  next  line  bein', 

'  And  wait  their  fiery  doom.'  " 

Ozias  looked  at  him  with  a  face  of  the  demurest 
fun. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said.  "  'Mandy's  feller  ain't 
one  of  the  Still  River  Steeles." 


154  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

Josiah  tried  to  solemnize  his  face,  but  barely 
succeeded,  as  they  entered  the  church  door. 

Hop  Meadow  was  a  little  village  in  one  of  our 
New  England  States,  lyin^  in  a  tiny  green  valley 
shut  in  by  low  rolling  hills,  patched  here  and  there 
with  yellow  grainfields,  squares  of  waving  grass, 
or  crimson  clov.er  fragrant  as  the  breath  of  Eden ; 
and  threaded  by  a  big  noisy  brook  that  pursued  its 
joyful  way  to  the  great  river  rolling  but  a  mile  or 
two  beyond  the  valley,  yet  quite  out  of  sight  of  its 
inhabitants.  In  this  fertile  and  sunny  spot,  when 
New  England  was  first  settled,  Andrew  Hopson, 
yeoman,  from  Kent,  Old  England,  had  staked  out 
his  share  of  land,  and  built  his  hut ;  he  had  mar 
ried,  shortly  after,  his  second  cousin,  and  in  due 
time  a  goodly  family  of  ten  children  gathered 
about  them.  Cousins,  too,  came  over  and  settled 
beside  Andrew,  and  more  distant  relatives  were 
gradually  persuaded  to  find  homes  in  the  new 
country;  so,  partly  for  the  sake  of  the  numerous 
Hopsons,  and  partly  in  memory  of  the  goodly 
Kentish  hopfields  which  they  hoped  one  day  to 
emulate,  the  village  was  called  Hop  Meadow.  It 
was  a  peculiarity  of  the  Hopson  family  that  almost 
without  exception  its  members  were  small  in  body. 
Not  a  man,  for  years  after  their  emigration,  as  for 
unknown  years  before  it,  reached  a  height  of  over 
five  feet  two ;  most  of  them  ignored  the  inches ; 
and  here  and  there  a  real  dwarf  carried  the  family 
specialty  to  excess. 

But  if  Nature  had  given  them  little  bodily  pres- 


nopsoN's  CHOICE.  155 

ence,  they  all  had  keen  wits,  humor,  good  temper, 
and  good  principles,  —  except  exceptions. 

Josiah  and  Ozias  were  Hopsons  by  name,  but 
there  were  Browns  among  the  cousinry,  and  here 
and  there  a  Hopson  girl  had  married  "  outside," 
and  brought  her  tall  husband  home  to  Thanksgiv 
ing  occasionally,  half  proud  and  half  ashamed  of 
him.  There  was  a  tradition  in  the  family  that  the 
first  Hopson,  that  Andrew  who  put  up  his  log  hut 
in  the  sunny  intervale  beside  Bright  Brook,  had 
left  Old  England  quite  as  much  from  pique  as 
principle.  He  had  become  a  Puritan,  no  doubt 
from  deep  conviction,  but  there  was  only  the  par 
ish  church  for  him  to  worship  in,  and  the  old  rec 
tor  was  a  stanch  adherent  of  Church  and  King. 
When  Parson  Yivyan  heard  of  the  emigrating  se- 
ceders  of  Leyden  he  felt  afraid  that  Andrew  Hop- 
son  might  cast  in  his  lot  with  those  fanatics  ;  and 
having  a  kindly  feeling  for  the  small  yeoman, 
whom  he  had  christened,  and  hoped  to  marry,  he 
exhorted  him  in  season  and  out  of  season  on  the 
folly  of  such  rebellion  against  King  and  Church. 
Andrew  resented  the  interference,  for  he  had  nei 
ther  thought  nor  talked  of  leaving  his  goodly 
farm  ;  and  he  grew  tired,  too,  of  the  parson's  one 
theme  of  conversation.  He  evaded  him  every 
where,  and  showed  all  the  quick  wit  of  his  race  in 
those  evasions  ;  like  a  drop  of  mercury  he  departed 
from  under  Mr.  Vivyan's  touch  and  was  off.  So 
that  worthy  man  took  unworthy  advantage  of  his 
position  and  preached  a  long  sermon  on  the  text, 


156  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

"  The  conies  are  a  feeble  folk,  and  dwell  in  the 
clefts  of  the  rock,"  in  which  discourse  he  took  oc 
casion  to  set  out  with  humiliating  detail  what  would 
naturally  be  the  fate  of  a  poor  little  creature  like 
the  cony  if  it  forsook  its  home  and  friends  in  the 
rocks  that  sheltered  it,  and  went  out  to  wandering1 
and  strife  with  wolves  and  foxes. 

The  natural  history  was  correct,  but  the  applica 
tion  was  so  pointed,  when  Parson  Vivyan  drew  out 
at  length  the  analogy,  and  portrayed  the  fate  of  the 
man  unfitted  by  nature  for  wars  and  hardships  who 
should  leave  his  neighbors  and  his  native  land  for 
the  sake  of  a  misguided  and  heretical  opinion,  that 
not  even  the  proverbial  good-nature  of  the  Hop- 
sons  could  abide  it. 

Andrew  took  fire  at  once.  He  made  immediate 
preparation  to  sell  his  farm,  a  hereditary  free 
hold,  and  having  obtained  Prudence's  consent  to 
follow  him  when  he  should  have  a  home  prepared 
for  her,  he  gathered  his  household  goods  together 
and  set  sail  for  the  New  World,  where,  as  he  ex 
pressed  himself  to  Parson  Vivyan,  "there  be  no 
prelatical  priests  to  vex  the  soul,  nor  yet  the  un 
godly  kingdom  of  a  carnal  king." 

That  Sunday  evening  on  which  our  story  opens, 
a  bright  June  moonlight  night,  Ozias,  avoiding  the 
youth  who  came  slowly  and  slyly  to  the  front  door, 
which  stood  hospitably  open,  with  evident  intent 
of  "  sparking,"  betook  himself  to  Josiah's  house, 
and  perfected  the  plan  for  a  Hopson  reunion. 

There  were  many  letters  to  write,  for  the  tribe 


IIOPSON'S  CHOICE.  157 

had  branched  far,  if  sparsely.  There  were  two 
Browns  in  Ohio  and  three  Hopsons  in  Illinois,  and 
then  three  generations  ago  a  certain  Mark  Hopson 
had  settled  on  a  stony  piece  of  land  in  Vermont, 
to  dig  and  sell  iron,  and  called  the  village  which 
sprang  up  about  his  furnace,  Hopyard  ;  but  so  unfit 
was  the  name  when  that  cleft  in  the  hills  became 
strewed  with  slag-heaps,  and  overshadowed  with 
black  smoke,  that  a  scoffing  stranger  had  said  in 
the  tavern  one  night,  "  Better  call  it  the  Devil's 
Hopyard,  I  should  say."  This  ill  name  had  fas 
tened  itself  firmly  on  the  little  cluster  of  houses, 
and  though  the  Hopsons  themselves  swarmed 
therein,  and  looked  like  a  troop  of  gnomes  when 
ever  there  was  a  run  of  iron  and  they  skipped 
about  the  moulding  beds  in  the  lurid  firelight,  yet 
outsiders  were  shy  of  settling  there,  and  told 
quaint  stories  of  the  tiny  tribe  who  occupied  the 
land,  and  delved,  smelted,  and  hauled  pig-iron  with 
an  energy  that  seemed  to  make  up  for  strength. 

It  was  currently  reported  that  in  the  early  days 
of  the  Devil's  Hopyard  a  tin-peddler  from  "  be 
low  "  stumbled  on  this  small  village  and,  trying  to 
catch  some  of  the  little  people  for  purposes  of  ex 
hibition,  chased  a  dozen  of  them  into  the  bung-hole 
of  an  empty  barrel,  and  triumphantly  proceeded  to 
stop  up  the  aperture  and  secure  his  prize ;  but 
while  he  pounded  at  the  bung  the  agile  creatures 
made  their  escape  through  the  spigot-hole,  and  de 
rided  him  with  shrill  laughter  and  mocking  ges 
tures  from  the  top  of  a  barn,  whither  they  had 


158  IIOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

climbed  on  a  wild  grapevine.  Peddler  or  not, 
there  were  plenty  of  Hopsons  there  now.  And  then 
there  was  Pamela  Bunnell  in  remote  parts  of  Iowa, 
who  had  married  out  of  the  clan ;  and  Ozias 
Brown,  who  had  settled  in  Pennsylvania ;  and  Ma- 
rinus  Hopson,  on  Cape  Cod  ;  and  Tertius  Hop- 
son,  in  Quebec ;  and  more,  whom  time  forbids  me 
to  chronicle,  but  who  all  received  an  invitation 
to  this  Hopson  gathering ;  and  almost  all  meant  to 
come. 

Then  began  a  stir  in  Hop  Meadow.  There  was 
a  big  tent  to  be  hired  and  pitched  on  the  green  — 
an  even  bit  of  turf  with  some  fine  elms  about  it, 
right  in  front  of  the  church  —  and  there  were  spare 
rooms  to  clean  and  dust ;  and  the  whole  tavern 
was  engaged  to  afford  lodgings  if  private  rooms 
overflowed  ;  and  such  baking,  boiling,  stewing,  fry 
ing,  and  other  culinary  performances  set  in  that 
one  would  have  thought  the  ten  lost  tribes  of  Is 
rael,  all  in  a  famished  condition,  were  coming  for  a 
month's  stay,  and  needed  unlimited  pie,  cake,  poul 
try,  and  pickles,  —  except  that  there  were  hams, 
boiled,  roasted,  and  chopped  or  sliced  for  sand 
wiches,  prominent  in  every  house ;  and  hams  are 
pork !  In  all  these  preparations  nobody  was  more 
busied  than  Prudence  Hopson,  Widow  Polly  Hop- 
son's  daughter  and  only  child.  Bezaleel  Hopson, 
her  father,  had  kept  the  "  store  "  in  Hop  Meadow 
forty  years,  when  he  died,  and  having  married  late 
in  life,  left  behind  him  this  little  five-year-old 
daughter,  and  plenty  of  "  means  "  to  console  his 


HOP  SON'S  CHOICE.  159 

wailing  widow,  who  was  an  "  outsider,"  and  per 
haps  attracted  her  fat  and  jolly  husband  by  her 
extreme  difference  from  any  of  his  kindred. 

Paulina  Flower  had  been  pretty  in  a  certain 
way  :  long  curling  yellow  hair,  limp  and  flabby 
even  in  its  trailing  ringlets,  languishing  blue  eyes, 
a  white  skin,  narrow,  low  forehead,  and  long  chin, 
seemed  to  express  and  adorn  her  manners  and  cus 
toms  with  peculiar  fitness. 

Nobody  but  the  Hopsons  would  ever  have  called 
her  Polly;  to  "her  folks"  she  was  "  Pawliny," 
nothing  less ;  but  Bezaleel  could  n't  stand  three 
syllables,  so  he  had  followed  the  custom  of  his  race, 
and  tried  to  make  the  best  of  his  wife's  melancholy 
while  he  lived. 

"  She  beats  all,"  said  Ozias  to  Josiah,  his  cousin 
and  special  crony.  "  I  never  see  a  woman  who 
likes  to  howl  so  well  in  my  life ;  she  's  forever 
a-spillin'  salt-water.  She'd  oughter  keep  clus  to 
a  pork-barrel,  so  's  to  save  brine.  I  b'lieve  she  'd 
set  down  an'  cry  to  the  heavenly  gates,  ef  ever  she 
got  there,  to  think  the'  wa'n't  a  fiery  chari't  sent 
down  to  fetch  her." 

"  Well,"  answered  the  more  slow-minded  Josiah, 
"  some  folks  is  made  so  ;  nothin'  suits  'em,  never. 
Their  eggs  gets  addled  second  day  out,  and  if  they 
have  n't  really  got  a  thing  to  cry  for,  they  '11  do  it 
a-puppus.  She 's  one  o'  them  that  likes  to  cjy 
jest  as  well  as  you  do  to  larf,  Ozy.  It  ain't  real 
comfortin'  to  other  folks  to  see  'em,  and  I  will  say 
I  've  hankered  some  to  give  Polly  a  hidin';  't  would 


160  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

do  her  solid  good  ter  have  somethin'  real  to  cry 
for.  But  you  can't  tune  another  man's  wife  no 
how." 

"  That 's  so,"  sadly  responded  Ozias. 

But  Prudence  —  "  little  Prudy,"  as  everybody 
called  her,  borrowing  her  title  from  the  most  ut 
terly  delightful  children's  books  ever  written  — 
was  a  thorough  Hopson. 

When  her  father  died  she  was  but  five  years 
old,  and  though  she  mourned  him  heartily  and 
sincerely,  it  was  as  children  mourn,  with  brief  tears 
and  tender  remembrance,  but  a  blessed  incompe 
tence  of  understanding  what  loss,  death,  separation, 
really  mean.  She  saw  her  mother  no  more,  if  no 
less,  tearful ;  she  could  not  be  more  doleful  and 
f 01  lorn  under  any  loss  than  she  had  been  in  the 
daily  fashion  of  her  life  ;  and  Prudy  was  as  differ 
ent  from  Polly  as  was  possible,  —  a  gay,  sparkling, 
happy  creature,  everybody's  pet  and  darling.  If 
she  had  lost  one  father  she  had  twenty  uncles  and 
cousins  ready  to  protect  and  indulge  her,  and  she 
grew  up  to  womanhood  as  nearly  spoiled  as  her 
sweet  honest  nature  would  allow.  But  who  ever 
was  proof  against  those  beautiful  brown  eyes,  red 
and  saucy  lips,  that  tossing,  wavy,  shining  hair, 
never  in  order,  but  never  anything  but  exquisite  in 
its  dark  shadows  and  golden  lights  ? 

Who  could  resist  that  coaxing,  caressing,  beguil 
ing  voice,  —  a  voice  that  could  soften  with  pity 
and  sparkle  with  mischief?  Who  did  not  clamor 
for  the  help  of  those  deft  and  taper  fingers  that 


IIOPSON'S  CHOICE.  161 

were  always  ready  and  able  to  do  whatever  was 
asked  of  them?  It  was  Prudy  who  came  to  the 
front  now  in  all  the  adornments  of  preparation. 
She  made  the  long  wreaths  of  ground  pine  and 
coral  pine  for  festooning  the  tent  and  the  church, 
and  fastened  them  up  under  knots  of  goldenrod  and 
bosses  of  purple  aster,  for  the  Hopson  gathering 
was  early  in  September.  She  arranged  the  baskets 
of  fruit  that  adorned  the  table,  so  that  pink  and 
purple  and  amber  grapes  lay  heaped  together  on 
vine-leaves,  and  the  profusion  of  green  and  gold 
pears  was  set  off  with  the  earliest  scarlet  foliage  of 
the  maple  and  deep  maroon  of  lingering  beet 
leaves. 

She  made  the  wonderful  ornaments  of  stars  and 
roses  and  architectural  devices  that  would  have 
adorned  the  countless  pies  had  not  the  oven  baked 
them  out  of  all  shape.  And  it  was  Prudy  who 
manufactured  the  whitest  silver  cake  and  the  clear 
est  jelly  that  made  contrast  of  ivory  and  ruby  be 
side  the  grosser  aliments  of  cold  ham  and  roast 
turkey. 

Her  mother  looked  on  and  shook  her  melancholy 
head  when  Prudy  dragged  that  unwilling  parent  to 
see  what  had  been  done. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  ;  it 's  pretty,  I  suppose.  But, 
oh,  I  can't  help  a-mournin'  to  think  how  that  your 
pa  would  ha'  relished  it.  This  world  's  a  fleetin' 
show,  Prudence.  Ef  you  'd  ha'  ben  through  what 
I  have  you  would  n't  take  no  great  of  int'rest  in 
these  trifliu'  things." 


162  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

Prudy  laughed;  her  father  had  been  dead  a 
thousand  years  —  to  her  ;  and  her  mother's  melan 
choly  moans  had  no  more  significance  to  her  than 
the  wind  in  the  spout. 

"  Well,  mammy,  they  're  pretty,  anyway,  and  I 
expect  most  of  these  things  will  be  a  fleetin'  show 
when  a  crowd  of  hungry  Hopsons  get  hold  of  'em. 
Who  's  coming  to  our  house  to  stay  ?  —  do  you 
know  yet  ?  " 

"  I  should  ha'  liked  to  have  Pamely  Bunnell  and 
her  boy,  but  she  was  bespoke  by  Ozias's  folks.  I 
used  to  know  her  some  before  I  was  married,  for 
she  married  Bunnell  when  he  lived  to  our  place, 
and  while  she  lived  here  a  spell  I  come  here  to 
visit,  and  then  I  see  your  pa.  Oh,  I  remember  of 
it  well,  the  fust  time  I  see  him ;  't  was  to  a  meetin' 
of  the  sons  an'  daughters  of  Massachusetts.  Josiah 
he  'd  put  in  the  paper  that  ( all  who  are  or  were 
born  in  Massachusetts  is  expected  to  attend  th'  an- 
nooal  meetin'  in  Clark  Hall.'  You  see,  Josiah's 
wife  she  come  from  Hingham ;  and  well  do  I  rec'- 
lect  he  got  up  that  evenin'  and  said  the  '  highest 
"  gaol "  of  his  ambition  hed  always  been  to  marry 
a  Massachusetts  girl.'  Some  did  n't  really  under 
stand  what  he  meant,  but  Pamely  she  said  he  'd 
got  the  wrong  word ;  Josiah  's  a  little  mixy,  always 
an'  forever  was  and  will  be  ;  and  your  pa  he  bu'st 
out  laughin'  behind  me,  and  I  looked  round  and 
see  him.  He  had  n't  no  business  there,  only  't  he 
provided  the  provisions,  and  he  'd  jest  fetched  in 
a  pot  of  pickles  't  somebody  'd  forgot,  and  —  Oh ! 


HOP  SON'S  CHOICE.  163 

I  've  kinder  run  off  from  Pamely.  Well,  I  can't 
hev  her :  she  writ  to  Ozias  for  to  have  her  place  in 
his  house.  I  s'pose  't  is  more  cherk  up  there  than 
't  is  to  a  solitary  widder's  like  me.  One  that 's 
seen  so  much  'fliction  and  is  so  cast  down  into  the 
valley  of  mournin'  as  I  be  ain't  good  company. 
And  jest  my  luck !  —  me  that  never  could  abide 
children  —  they  've  sent  Marinus's  people  to  us 
—  seven  small  children,  and  she  's  weakly.  Oh 
land !  how  be  I  to  bear  it  ?  " 

Prudy  laughed  again  ;  she  could  n't  help  it ;  the 
idea  of  seven  children  secretly  delighted  her  sun 
shiny  soul.  What  romps  they  would  have  !  Wrhat 
corn-poppings  !  —  she  would  rub  up  the  old  warm 
ing-pan  to-day;  and  there  were  five  kittens  in  the 
barn ! 

Polly  did  not  betray  her  own  secret  hopes  to  her 
daughter.  Like  many  languid,  selfish,  sloppy, 
mournful  people,  she  had  a  certain  cunning  or  sly 
ness  which  tended  to  amuse  her,  —  and  sometimes 
other  people,  when  it  did  not  vex  them !  She  had 
purposely  delayed  asking  Pamela  Bunnell,  who  was 
a  widow  with  one  son,  to  her  house,  lest  the  son 
should  take  a  fancy  to  Prudy. 

Mrs.  Polly  did  not  intend  to  lose  her  girl  if  she 
could  help  it :  no  servant  could  or  would  so  neatly 
curl  her  lank  ringlets,  that,  threaded  with  the  gray 
of  forty-nine  years,  still  dropped  absurdly  down  her 
back ;  nor  would  any  other  woman  wait  on  her  so 
handily  and  cheerfully  on  the  frequent  days  when 
she  chose  to  keep  her  bed,  and  must  be  fed  with  the 


164  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

daintiest  morsels  that  Prudy  knew  just  how  to  pre 
pare. 

To  be  sure,  Hopson  Bunnell,  Pamela's  boy,  was 
"  well  spoke  of  "  by  such  of  the  clan  as  had  heard  of 
him,  and  had  some  property  of  his  own,  beside  a  re 
version  of  the  great  prairie  farm  his  mother  super 
intended  with  all  the  energy  and  skill  a  bigger 
woman  could  have  brought  to  bear  on  the  prem 
ises  ;  but  for  all  this  Mrs.  Polly  cared  nothing. 
Her  listless  self-absorption  would  have  come  be 
tween  Prudy  and  the  best  match  possible,  so  she 
had  never  asked  Pamela  —  who  expected  it  of  her 

—  to  come  to  her  house,  but  had  gently  hinted  to 
the  Reception  Committee  of  the  occasion  that  she 
could  take  a  large  family  if  they  were  mostly  chil 
dren,  and   could  be    crowded   two   or   three  in  a 
chamber.     Prudy  had  her  own  intimate  friend,  of 
course,  in  the  village,  for  though  there  were  but 
few  young  girls  in  Hop  Meadow,  the  Hopsons  hav 
ing  a  way  of  marrying  young,  there  were  a  few, 
and  Lizzy  Brown  was  the  best  and  prettiest,  next 
to  Prudy,  —  a  sober,  steady,  discreet  maiden,  with 
brown  hair  and  blue  eyes,  who  looked  at  Prudence 
as  a  robin  might  at  an  oriole,  but  did  not  treat  her 
at  all  as  the  one  bird  treats  the  other,  but  held  her  in 
all  adoration,  and  served  her  with  earnest  affection. 

At  last  the  day  of  the  Hopson  reunion  arrived, 

—  one  of  those  soft,  golden,  gorgeous  days  in  au 
tumn    when  the  air  is  quiet,  the  heavens  serene, 
and  the    earth  steeped  in    dreams  and   rainbows ; 
but  the  Hopsons  were  not  still ;  not  at  all.     They 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  165 

swarmed  like  troops  of  good-sized  fairies  through  the 
wide  streets,  laughing,  shaking  hands,  chattering, 
singing,  full  of  welcome  and  cheer,  —  slight,  airy 
girls ;  rounder  but  still  tidy  matrons,  with  dolls  of 
babies  in  their  arms ;  fat  little  men,  laughing  and 
joking  with  every  new-comer,  —  the  only  woeful 
face  being  Mrs.  Polly's  ;  while  Prudy,  in  the  dainti 
est  white  gown,  with  a  big  bunch  of  red  roses  at 
her  belt,  was  threading  the  crowd  everywhere,  mar 
shaling  the  guests  to  their  several  lodgings,  smiling 
at  every  child,  coquetting  with  every  old  man,  and 
turning  a  bewitching  cold  shoulder  on  the  youths 
who  buzzed  about  her  like  contending  bumble-bees 
on  a  Canada  thistle,  prickliest  and  most  delicate  of 
its  tribe. 

But  one  of  the  race,  Pamela's  boy,  towered  far 
above  the  rest,  to  his  own  disgust  and  their  amuse 
ment.  Hopson  Bunnell  was  all  of  six  feet  in  his 
stockings,  powerful,  athletic,  and  handsome,  with 
dark  keen  eyes,  firm  lips,  a  shock  of  deep  brown 
curls,  and  a  silky  beard  of  darkness  that  showed 
well  against  the  cool  healthiness  of  his  smooth  if 
sunburned  skin. 

"  I  know  he  's  awful  tall,"  said  Pamela,  depre- 
catingly,  to  Ozias,  "  and  I  've  set  my  heart  011  his 
marryin'  one  of  our  folks.  Seems  as  though  Provi 
dence  interfered  serious  with  my  plans.  The'  ain't 
no  girls  anywhere  near  to  us,  and  them  that 's  near 
est  Hopson  don't  seem  to  fellowship ;  but  I  never 
seemed  to  sense  his  tallness  as  I  do  now,  'mongst 
the  rest  of  us." 


166  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

"  Well,"  answered  Ozias,  "  't  ain't  always  best  to 
make  no  great  of  plans  about  folks's  marryin' ; 
they  gener'lly  do  as  they  darn  please  about  that, 
I  've  observed.  Providence  hes  got  severial  other 
things  to  do,  I  guess,  than  makin'  matches.  I  'in  a 
freewill  Baptist,  so  fur  as  that  comes  in,  now  I  tell 

ye." 

"  Oh  my  !  "  exclaimed  Pamela.  "  I  don't  ex 
pect  to  settle  nothing,  nor  I  have  n't  said  a  word 
to  Hopson,  you  better  believe.  I  was  only  speakin' 
of  it  to  you,  Ozy,  out  of  the  fullness  of  my  heart, 
as  you  may  say,  accordin'  to  Scripter." 

"  Well,  I  sha'n't  tell ;  and  't  ain't  best  to  put  a 
finger  into  sech  pies.  Natur  is  pecooliar,  Pamely ; 
you  can't  never  tell  how  it  '11  work ;  so  I  calc'late 
always  to  leave  out  the  bung  for  fear  of  a  bu'st. 
There  's  my  'Mandy,  now.  Mariar  bein'  dead  ever 
Bence  the  girl  was  ten  year  old,  I  've  been  consider- 
'ble  pestered  what  to  do  with  her ;  but  fin'lly  I  con- 
eluded  to  see  't  she  read  the  Bible  right  along  and 
said  her  prayers  punctooal,  and  then  I  let  her 
went.  She  had  her  ups  an'  downs,  but  she  's  come 
up  about  as  good  as  the  average  ;  and  now  she  's 
got  to  keepin'  company  with  a  pretty  clever  feller, 
and  she  '11  be  off  my  mind  afore  long." 

Hopson  Bunnell,  all  unconscious  of  his  mother's 
wish  in  his  behalf,  was  meantime  enjoying  himself 
mightily  ;  he  recovered  from  his  awkwardness  very 
fast,  turning  the  laugh  on  his  kindred  in  various 
ways,  and  dangling  after  Prudy  like  an  amiable 
giant  in  the  toils  of  a  fairy  queen.  She  seemed  to 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  167 

this  tall,  handsome  fellow  something  daintier  than  a 
flower,  and  more  bewitching  than  a  bird  ;  he  never 
tired  of  seeing  that  graceful  little  figure  waiting  on 
the  tables,  coaxing  the  old  men  with  dainty  morsels, 
filling  the  boys  with  good  things,  hollow  though 
they  were  "  down  to  their  boots,"  as  she  declared, 
being  unused  to  boys ;  or  playing  with  the  little 
girls,  who  all  adored  her.  But  to  Hopson  himself 
Prudy  was  the  most  malicious  elf  !  Nobody  teased 
him  as  she  did  ;  nobody  could. 

"  Cousin  Hopson,"  she  said  to  him,  the  day  after 
the  feast,  —  for  though  almost  all  the  rest  had  gone, 
a  few  of  the  more  distant  remained  to  extend  a 
visit  they  had  come  so  far  to  make,  — "  Cousin 
Hopson,  will  you  please  to  do  something  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  will,"  alertly  answered  Hopson,  be 
witched  with  the  sweet,  shy  voice. 

"  Just  hand  me  down  one  of  them  stars  to  put  in 
my  hair,  will  you  ? "  and  Prudy  vanished  with  a 
peal  of  mocking  mirth,  echoed  by  a  cackle  of  fat 
laughter  from  Tertius  Hopson,  the  Quebec  cousin, 
a  very  jolly,  rosy,  stout  old  bachelor,  looking  for 
all  the  world  like  a  Sir  Toby  jug. 

"  She  beats  all,"  said  Tertius.  "  I  never  see  a 
humbird  fuller  o'  buzz  than  little  Prudy." 

Hopson  bit  his  lips.  "  I  '11  be  even  with  her," 
he  said  to  himself  ;  so  that  very  evening,  as  some 
of  the  clan  gathered  round  a  tiny  open  fire  in 
Ozias's  kitchen,  rather  for  companionship  than 
cold,  the  young  farmer  said  to  Prudy:  "You 
oughter  to  be  put  to  use,  Prudy.  I  'd  like  to 


168  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

buy  ye  for  a  mantelshelf  figure ;  you  're  just  big 
enough." 

"  I  ain't  for  sale,"  snapped  Prudy. 

"  Why,  you  'd  do  first-rate  ;  them  things  are  all 
the  go,  and  you  're  the  exact  size." 

So  saying,  he  stooped,  and  before  Prudy  knew 
what  had  happened,  two  strong  hands  grasped  her 
tiny  waist,  and  she  was  swung  up  like  a  feather  by 
those  mighty  arms,  and  set  on  the  broad  oaken 
shelf  among  the  flatirons,  candlesticks,  and  other 
miscellaneous  articles  thereon ;  while  Hopson,  re 
treating  a  step,  looked  her  in  the  face,  and  a  roar 
of  laughter  from  Tertius,  Ozias,  'Mandy,  Josiah, 
and  the  rest  completed  her  discomfiture.  Prudy 
colored  scarlet,  her  eyes  flashed,  and  one  little  fist 
clinched  instinctively  ;  the  other  hand  held  fast  to 
the  shelf. 

"  Cousin  'Zias,  take  me  down,"  she  called  out  im 
peratively. 

"  Bless  your  soul,  Prudy !     I  ain't  big  enough." 

"  Get  a  chair." 

"  Why,  folks  is  settin'  on  'em,  every  one,"  and 
Ozias  looked  round  with  an  air  of  innocent  dismay 
that  renewed  the  laughter. 

"  I  '11  take  ye  down,  Prudy,  if  you  '11  say  '  please,' 
like  a  good  baby,"  calmly  remarked  Hopson. 

Prudy  choked.  "  I  '11  stay  here  all  night  first," 
she  snapped. 

"Well,  'tis  jest  as  I  said  now.  You  do  make 
about  as  goodlookin'  a  figure  for  a  mantel  as  ever 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  169 

"  Take  me  down !  "  shrieked  Prudy. 
But  oh,  how  pretty  she  was  up  there !  Dresden 
could  not  match  with  her  costliest  figurines  the 
delicate  creature  in  her  china-blue  gown  (a  sudden 
chill  having  come  after  the  September  heats  had 
made  woolen  garments  comfortable),  falling  in  soft 
dim  folds  just  to  the  smallest  shoes  that  ever  a 
Hopson  even  could  wear,  her  white  throat  set  off 
by  carnation  ribbons  under  the  lace  frill,  and  an 
other  bow  of  that  tender,  vivid  color  in  her  waving, 
shining  hair,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  red  lips  apart, 
and  her  cheeks  rosier  than  her  ribbons.  Hopson 
Bunnell  could  have  looked  at  her  forever,  but  he  did 
not  say  so.  "  Say  '  please  '  now  —  real  pretty," 
was  all  he  did  say,  unconsciously  drawing  nearer 
to  the  lovely  little  creature. 

Prudy  was  quickwitted ;  she  controlled  her  rage  a 
moment.  "  W-e-11  "  —  reluctantly  —  "I  don'  know 
but  I  'd  whisper  it,  rather  'n  stay  up  here  all  night." 
Luckless  man !  He  drew  near  to  catch  the 
precious  whisper,  but  as  he  turned  his  ear,  Prudy's 
hand  descended  on  Jiis  brown  cheek  with  a'resound- 
ing  slap  that  left  a  print  of  five  little  fingers  im 
pressed  thereon  visibly  for  at  least  an  hour ;  but 
alas !  in  avenging  herself  Prudy  lost  her  balance, 
and  Hopson  caught  her  and  kissed  the  lovely,  indig 
nant  face  before  he  really  knew  what  he  was  doing. 
" '  A  kiss  for  a  blow,  always  bestow,'  "  cackled 
Tertius.  And  everybody  roared  again,  except 
Prudy,  who  dropped  to  the  floor,  burst  into  tears, 
and  fled. 


170  IIOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

Hopson  was  really  ashamed  of  himself,  but  it 
did  seem  to  him  as  if  his  head  whirled  ;  a  sense 
of  wild  bliss  ran  in  all  his  veins ;  he  knew  well  that 
he  had  taken  an  unfair  advantage  of  Prudy,  but 
so  reckless  was  his  delight  that  he  was  not  a  bit 
repentant. 

However,  he  had  to  repent  next  day.  Prudy 
turned  into  a  perfect  snowball  whenever  he  came 
near  her.  It  took  a  week  of  abasement  and  apolo 
gies  to  put  them  on  the  old  footing  (externally) 
again.  Could  he  tell,  poor  fellow,  being  only  a 
man,  how  Prudy  secretly  exulted  in  the  apology  she 
professed  to  despise  ?  —  i.  e.,  "  You  were  so  sweet 
and  so  pretty,  I  could  n't  help  it,  Prudy." 

How  was  he  to  know  that  these  words  rang  in 
her  ears  like  a  song  of  joy  day  and  night,  or  that 
in  the  once  still  depths  of  her  heart  Prudy  recog 
nized  a  sweet  perturbation  that  dated  from  the 
second  she  was  held  in  those  powerful  arms,  close 
against  a  manly,  throbbing  heart  ? 

But  nobody  could  be  cross  in  this  clear  autumnal 
weather,  with  gay  leaves  beginning  to  illuminate 
the  woods,  daily  parties  to  hunt  for  gentian  blos 
soms,  to  gather  "  wintergreen  plums,"  to  heap  up 
red  and  golden  apples  under  the  orchard  boughs, 
or  clamber  after  fragrant  wild  grapes  on  the  hill 
sides.  Hopson  grew  deeper  in  love  with  every 
new  day,  and  Prudy  fought  more  feebly  against 
the  chains  that  seemed  daily  to  imprison  her  will 
and  her  thoughts.  Perhaps  the  course  of  true  love 
might  for  once  have  run  smooth  but  for  that  un- 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  171 

ruly  member  that  spoils  most  of  our  plans  in  this 
world,  and  brings  to  naught  the  best  intentions  and 
the  sincerest  goodwill.  Tertius  Hopson  still  lin 
gered  in  Hop  Meadow,  as  well  as  Pamela  Bunnell 
and  her  son.  Tertius  was  living  in  Quebec  "on 
his  means,"  as  we  Yankees  phrase  it.  He  had  made 
some  money  there  in  trade,  and  settled  down  to 
enjoy  it  in  a  sort  of  selfish  fashion  that  was  not 
natural  to  his  jolty,  kindly  disposition. 

He  had  never  known  how  close  and  pleasant  are 
the  ties  of  kindred  till  now  ;  he  seemed  at  last 
to  have  got  home ;  here  was  the  stir,  the  interest, 
the  sweetness  of  a  daily  intercourse  hitherto  denied 
him,  and  it  seemed  to  warm  and  rejuvenate  his  life, 
to  quicken  his  pulses,  to  brighten  his  ideas  ;  he 
loved  it ;  he  could  not  tear  himself  away ;  and 
above  all  things  he  loved  to  "  bother  "  Polly  Hop- 
son.  Whenever  she  sighed,  he  smiled,  broad  and 
beaming  as  the  harvest  moon  ;  whenever  she  be 
wailed  herself,  he  laughed  ;  when  she  wept,  as  now 
and  then  she  did  weep  over  the  departed  Bezaleel, 
he  would  deliberately  sit  down  and  sing  to  her  all 
the  queer  old  songs  he  had  learned  in  the  "old 
country,"  as  he  persisted  in  calling  Quebec,  till  the 
Meadow  boys  learned  by  heart  "  The  Leather  Bot- 
tel,"  "The  British  Grenadiers,"  "Hunting  the 
Hare,"  "  Lasses  and  Lads,"  and  sundry  other  rol 
licking  ditties  which  once  delighted  the  ears  of  our 
forefathers  across  the  water,  and  have  in  them  still 
a  ringing,  hearty  smack  of  country  squiredom  and 
rural  sports.  At  first  Polly  was  outraged;  her 


172  IIOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

chin  fell  half  an  inch,  and  her  curls  frayed  out  of 
curliuess  with  the  solemn  shakes  of  her  head  and 
the  dampness  of  her  tears ;  but  she  endured  from 
helplessness,  and  began  at  last  to  smile  wintrily 
and  forbearirigly  on  the  unconquerable  jollity  of 
the  man  whom  at  first  she  mildly  contemned.  It 
threatened  to  be  the  old  story  of  "  first  endure, 
then  pity,  then  embrace  ; "  and,  as  usual,  outsiders 
saw  most  of  the  game. 

Ozias  and  Josiah,  after  their  custom,  sat  in  con 
clave  upon  the  matter.  They  had  just  set  the  cider- 
mill  going,  which  they  owned  in  common,  and 
perched  themselves  on  a  cart-neap,  where  they 
could  "  chirk  up  the  hoss  "  which  revolved  with 
the  beam  of  the  press,  and  yet  indulge  in  that  gos 
sip  which  delighted  their  souls,  combining  business 
with  pleasure. 

"  Say,"  began  Josiah,  "  have  n't  you  sorter  sur 
mised,  Ozy,  that  Tertius  favors  Hop  Meadow  for 
a  residin'-place,  so  to  speak  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hev,"  Ozias  answered,  "  and  I  should  n't 
be  no  more  'n  surprised  ef  that  he  settled  down 
here  after  a  spell ;  he  's  lonesome  up  to  Quebec, 
I  expect.  There  ain't  nothin'  like  your  own  folks, 
after  all,  when  you  're  gettin'  along  in  years  ;  the' 
don't  nobody  else  sorter  seem  to  belong  t'  ye." 

"It  does  make  a  sight  of  difference,"  replied 
the  moralizing  Josiah.  "  When  one  's  young,  and 
havin'  their  monsterious  days,  it  don't  make  no 
great  of  difference  where  they  be,  nor  what  they  're 
a-doin'  of ;  but  come  to  git  rheumatiz  onto  a  feller, 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  173 

and  hev  the  grinders  cease  because  they  are  few,  as 
Scripter  tells,  why,  you  begin  to  be  everlastin' 
thankful  that  there  's  a  house  V  home  for  ye,  and 
a  woman  to  cook  your  vittles." 

"  That 's  so,  Josh,  and  that 's  why  I  'm  a-goin' 
to  hev  'Mandy  and  her  feller  settle  down  along 
with  rne  when  they  get  married.  She  '11  hev  the 
farm  when 

The  end  o'  my  nose 
An'  the  tips  o'  my  toes 
Is  turned  up  to  the  roots  of  the  daisies, 

as  the  songbook  says ;  and  she  might  as  well  stop 
to  hum  and  look  after  me  as  to  go  further  and  fare 
worse.  But  seems  to  me  kinder  as  if  Tertius  was 
slyin'  round  Polly,  if  you  '11  b'lieve  it." 

"  Heavens  to  Betsey !  "  gasped  Josiah.  "  That 
old  feller?" 

"  Well,  I  never  see  the  time,  Josh,  't  a  man  was 
too  old  to  git  married,  —  nor  a  woman  nuther,  for 
that  matter.  It 's  eveiiastiii'  queer,  surely,  for  him 
to  take  a  likin'  to  Polly.  I  'd  as  lieves  hang  on  to 
a  wet  dish-rag  as  her,  when  all 's  said  an'  done,  but 
*  many  men  of  many  minds,'  as  the  sayin'  goes,  and 
if  she's  to  his'n,  why,  I  don't  make  nor  meddle 
with  'em.  She  's  got  a  good  place  for  to  take  him 
into." 

"  Yes  ;  that 's  suthin.  He  's  got  means,  I  s'pose, 
but  it 's  kind  o'  lonesome  to  live  the  way  he  does 
up  to  Quebec,  a-lodgin',  as  he  calls  it,  and  to  be 
fcook  down  with  the  sarcastic  rheumatiz  as  he  was, 


174  HOP  SON'S  CHOICE. 

"  Land  sakes  !  what 's  that  ?  "  asked  Ozias. 

"  Well,  I  don't  reelly  know ;  I  b'lieve  it 's  prin 
cipally  confined  to  one  leg,  an'  starts  pretty  high 
up,  but  that 's  what  he  called  it,  anyway ;  mabbe 
'tis  the  English  name  on't;  but  it's  real  severe, 
now  I  tell  ye ;  he  said  it  made  him  holler  like  a 
loon." 

"Polly  can  cry  for  somethin'  then,"  dryly  re 
marked  Ozias. 

"  And  I  sorter  surmise,  Ozy,  that  Pamely's  boy 
is  a-hankerin'  after  little  Prudy." 

"  Well,  I  've  had  my  idees  sot  that  way  too. 
He 's  a  clever  feller  as  ever  was ;  but  I  should  hate 
to  lose  little  Prudy.  Darn  the  cretur  !  ain't  there 
nobody  else  to  Hop  Meadow  he  could  set  his  eyes 
onto  but  her?" 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  who  else,"  answered  Josiah. 
"  'Mandy  's  spoke  for,  as  well  you  know  ;  and  I 
have  heered  lately  that  Lizzy  Brown  is  promised  to 
Marinus's  nevy  down  to  Cape  Cod ;  he  's  mate  to 
a  threemaster,  so  they  tell,  and  is  off  on  a  voyage 
jest  now,  so  they  don't  talk  on  't,  but  it 's  so.  Ma- 
rinus  has  kep'  his  mouth  shut.  He's  a  kind  of 
a  dumb,  oyster  cretur."  (Poor  umixy"  Josiah 
meant  "  austere.") 

"  Nat'ral  for  him  to  keep  his  mouth  shut,"  put 
in  Ozias  ;  "  they  gener'lly  do." 

Josiah  stared,  but  serenely  went  on.  "  But  he 
did  allow  't  was  so  to  Aunt  Nancy,  an'  she  up  an' 
told  my  wife,  so  ye  see  the'  ain't  reelly  nobody  but 
little  Prudy  to  hev." 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  175 

"  Hobson's  choice  for  him,  ain't  it  ?  Hullo, 
young  feller !  Speak  of  a  donkey  V  you  see  an  ear, 
direct ;  "  for  here  Hopson  Bunnell  stalked  into  the 
cider-mill  shed,  his  handsome  face  warm  with  exer 
cise,  and  his  eyes  softened  and  deepened  by  his  un 
spoken  thoughts. 

"  We  was  just  a-talkin'  about  you,"  exclaimed 
Josiah. 

"  And  Cousin  'Zias  had  to  call  me  a  donkey. 
Now  is  that  friendly  ?  "  laughed  Pamela's  boy. 

"  There  's  worse  critters  than  donkeys,"  blandly 
answered  Ozias  ;  "  but  I  was  only  a-usin'  the  term 
proverbially,  as  it  were,  or  was,  or  might  be.  Fact 
is,  my  eyes  is  gettin'  open  to  your  designs,  sir,  and 
I  was  kind  of  dammin'  in  a  genteel  way  about 
your  carryin'  off  little  Prudy  to  lowy,  when  she  's 
the  one  we  all  set  by  like  our  eyes,  and  I  was  askin' 
in  a  general  manner,  ef  there  was  n't  no  other  Hop- 
son  girl  you  could  have  took  up  with  beside  her ; 
and  Josiah  said  the'  wa'n't  —  the  rest  was  all  be 
spoke  ;  an'  I  said  't  was  Hobson's  choice  with  ye." 

Pamely's  boy  flushed  to  his  dark  curls  ;  his  head 
was  lifted  as  if  some  proud  delight  lay  on  a  height 
that  he  could  see,  but  no  other,  and  his  voice  rang 
out  in  subdued  yet  clear  cadence  as  he  answered  :  — 

"  There  is  n't  another  girl,  outside  of  Hop 
Meadow  neither,  Ozias ;  there  ain't  in  the  world. 
There 's  nobody  for  me  but  little  Prudy.  You  was 
right  one  way ;  she 's  Hopson's  choice,  and  no 
other." 

Unlucky  mother-tongue!    why   are  b  and  p  so 


176  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

near  alike  in  our  queer  old  language  that  the  dis 
tinction  between  them  is  almost  inexpressible  by 
human  lips  ?  As  luck  would  have  it  Prudy  and 
Lizzy  Brown  had  privately  stolen  up  to  the  cider- 
press,  thinking  it  deserted,  to  indulge  in  the  surrepti 
tious  but  dear  delight  of  sucking  sweet  new  cider 
through  a  straw.  They  were  old  and  demure 
enough  to  be  ashamed  of  the  trick  if  any  one  saw 
them,  but  the  rich  fruity  beverage  was  delicious  to 
their  girlish  memories,  and  slyly  they  stole  out  to 
indulge  in  the  tipple,  carrying  gold-bright  straws 
in  their  hands,  and  came  up  behind  the  shed  just 
in  time  to  hear  Hopson's  declaration. 

Prudy's  face  flamed,  the  tender  visions  that  had 
dwelt  in  her  dumb  heart  and  softened  her  cool 
brown  eyes  were  struck  by  the  lurid  light  of  sud 
den  fury,  and  fled  away  ;  she  grasped  Lizzy's  arm 
with  a  viselike  grip. 

"  Come  right  away,"  she  whispered  ;  and  fleet  as 
a  silent  pair  of  goblins  they  left  the  green  yard 
where  the  shed  stood,  and  disappeared  down  a  nar 
row  lane  that  led  to  Josiah's  barn. 

Prudy  rushed  into  that  friendly  shelter,  banged 
the  door  behind  her,  relaxed  her  hold  of  Lizzy,  and 
sitting  down  promptly  on  a  wheelbarrow,  cried 
with  rage. 

"  Why  Prudy,"  said  the  gentle  Elizabeth,  "  what 
in  the  world  's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  he-he-hear  him  ?  —  the  awful,  hor 
rid,  mean  thing,"  sobbed  Prudy. 

"  Hear  who,  dear  ?  " 


HOPSON'ti  CHOICE.  Ill 

"  Why,  that  great,  horrid  Hopson  Bunnell. 
Bid  n't  you  hear  him  —  I  'm'  sure  he  spoke  out 
loud  enough  —  say  that  he  'd  got  to  marry  me  : 
't  was  Hobson's  choice  and  no  other  ?  " 

Prudy  did  extend  the  facts  a  little,  it  is  true ; 
she  did  n't  mean  to  1  —  extend  them,  but  she  gave 
the  idea  as  she  took  it  in,  just  as  the  rest  of  us 
poor  mortals  do,  without  a  thought  that  any  other 
construction  than  her  own  could  be  put  upon  the 
words,  or  that  she  had  confounded  those  confounded 
letters,  —  forgive  the  phrase,  dear  reader ;  they  con 
tinually  exasperate  me,  —  b  and  p. 

"  No,  I  did  n't  hear  him,"  condoled  Lizzy. 
"  Poor  dear  Prudy,  did  he  say  such  a  mean  thing  ? 
Well,  never  mind,  dear,  that  don't  make  it  so ;  you 
know  you  have  n't  got  to  take  him.  You  don't  like 
him." 

Prudy  reared  her  dishevelled  little  head  from  the 
side  of  the  wheelbarrow,  like  a  snake  about  to  strike. 

"  You  goose  !  "  she  said.  I  do  like  him.  Oh 
dear !  oh  dear  !  Lizzy  Brown,  I  '11  kill  you  if  you 
ever  tell.  But  I  do.  I  can't  help  it,  and,  oh  !  — 
and  —  and  I  thought  he  liked  me  first,  or  I  never 
_oh!—  oh!"  — 

Here  a  flood  of  tears  literally  drowned  her  vo*fce, 
and  in  Lizzy's  soft  eyes  tears  shone  with  sympa 
thetic  brightness.  She  sat  down  by  Prudy,  and 
began  to  sob  too. 

"  And  he —  oh,  Liz!  —  he  kissed  me  once,  and 
now  he  says  't  was  Hobson's  choice.  I  'd  just  like 
to  shoot  him." 


178  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

Prudy  started  suddenly,  and  the  wheelbarrow, 
overloaded  with  grief  and  girls,  as  suddenly  tipped 
over,  leaving  girls  and  grief  in  a  heap  on  the  barn 
floor.  This  was  too  much  for  Prudy.  Blinded 
with  hayseed,  damp  with  tears,  choked  with  hys 
teric  laughter,  it  was  a  good  hour  before  Lizzy 
could  calm  her  or  restore  her  to  her  proper  aspect, 
and  make  her  consent  to  go  home  quietly,  though 
with  burning  vengeance  in  her  heart. 

Poor  Hopson  !  the  world  was  hollow  now,  and 
his  doll  stuffed  with  bran.  If  he  did  n't  want  to 
go  into  a  convent,  he  did  want  to  go  back  to  Iowa, 
and  yet  Prudy  controlled  him  like  a  Fate,  and 
kept  him  miserable,  abject,  and  longing  in  Hop 
Meadow,  growing  thin,  pale,  and  silent,  after  the 
approved  hang-dog  fashion  of  unhappy  lovers  who 
are  tacitly  allowed  to  flaunt  their  wretchedness  all 
abroad,  —  probably  because  it  is  so  transitory. 

Polly  sighed  and  wept.  Tertius  laughed  and 
sang  more  than  ever.  Changeful  as  the  aptest 
specimen  of  her  sex,  Polly  now  earnestly  desired 
that  Prudy  should  marry  and  leave  her  to  Tertius, 
for  Polly  had  at  last  consented  to  try  another  Hop- 
son  —  "  try  "  in  more  senses  than  one  —  and  much 
she-ieared  that  Prudy  would  send  "  Pamely's  boy  " 
home  in  despair. 

Pamela,  too,  was  distressed  to  the  heart  with  her 
boy's  misery.  She  dared  not  try  to  console  him, 
for  on  her  feeblest  attempt  to  break  the  ice  he 
would  turn  on  his  heel  and  leave  her.  At  last  she 
brought  her  trouble  to  Ozias,  with  whom  she  had 


HOP  SON'S  CHOICE.  179 

been  brought  up,  and  whom  she  regarded  as  a 
brother. 

"  Say,  Ozy,  what  do  you  suppose  ails  Hopson  ? 
He  don't  never  eat  a  meal  of  vittles ;  jest  picks  a 
mouthful,  as  you  may  see,  not  enough  for  a 
chippin'-bird.  And  he 's  a-grievin'  in'ardly  the 
whole  time  ;  I  know  he  is,  for  he  don't  sleep  nights, 
and  he  ain't  no  fatter  'n  a  hen's  forehead.  He 's 
wastin'  away,  dyin'  by  inches,  I  do  believe." 

"  Well,  Pamely,  he  '11  be  quite  a  spell  dyin', 
then,  if  that 's  a  comfort  to  ye :  there 's  consider- 
'ble  many  inches  to  Hopson." 

"  Oh-zias,  I  b'lieve  you  'd  laugh  ef  I  was  a-dyin' !  " 
indignantly  snapped  Pamela. 

"  Mabbe  I  should.  I  don't  love  to  cry  before 
folks ;  but  really  now,  Pamely,  I  b'lieve  what  ails 
Hopson  is  that  little  witch  of  a  Prudy  ;  he  's  most 
amazin'  sot  on  her,  and  she  won't  so  much  as  look 
at  him.  I  'm  free  to  confess  I  thought  she  liked 
him  for  a  spell ;  but,  Lord  !  what  can  a  feller  find 
out  about  women-folks  ?  They  're  spryer,  an'  cu 
ter,  an'  sinfuler,  an'  more  pernickity  'n  a  fire-hang- 
bird  !  I  don't  see  into  it." 

"  Oh  dear !  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  sighed  Pamela, 
despairingly. 

"  Don't  do  nothin' !  I  '11  see  to  it.  It 's  one  of 
them  cases  where  somebody's  got  to  speak  in 
ineetin',  and  when  there  's  a  woman  to  pay,  it 's  a 
sight  better  to  ketch  a-holt  of  her  with  a  strong 
hand,  same  as  I  used  ter  squeeze  grasshoppers 
when  I  was  a  boy,  and  hold  her  still  till  she  tells. 


180  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

I  '11  tackle  Miss  Prudy  myself,  for  the  thing 's  got 
to  be  did ;  this  hangin'  on  by  the  eyelids  ain't 
nateral  nor  pleasin'.  You  keep  still."  Pamela 
was  used  to  the  masterful  ways  of  Ozias,  so  she 
took  to  her  rocker  and  her  knitting,  wiped  a  few 
mild  tears  from  her  kind  old  eyes,  and  waited  for 
events. 

Ozias,  well  aware  of  Prudy 's  haunts,  followed 
the  path  by  the  side  of  Bright  Brook  down  to  a 
cluster  of  shagbark  walnut-trees  on  a  meadow  that 
belonged  to  Bezaleel's  farm;  he  knew  she  had 
gone  there  nutting,  and  meeting  the  doleful  Hop- 
son  on  his  way,  remarked,  curtly,  "  Young  feller, 
I  want  you  should  happen  down  this  road  in  twenty 
minutes  :  don't  make  it  longer." 
Hopson  stared. 

"Come,  now;  do  as  I  tell  you:  you'll  be  glad 
on't." 

"  I  '11  come  if  you  want  me,"  was  the  listless  an 
swer. 

Ozias  found  Prudy  doing  anything  but  nutting ; 
her  basket  was  on  the  ground  empty,  all  about  her 
lay  husks  and  nuts  that  the  keen  wind  of  Novem 
ber  had  thrown  down,  but  she  left  them  to  lie 
there.  Her  shawl  was  drawn  over  her  head,  her 
head  leaned  against  a  mighty  tree,  and  she  was 
crying  fast  and  silently,  when  Ozias  jumped  over 
the  fence.  She  tried  to  tie  on  her  hat,  but  Ozias 
sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  two  hands  fast 
in  his. 

"  Prudy,"  he  said,  "  I  've  got  a  word  to  say  to 


HOPSON'S  CHOICE.  181 

ye  :  why  on  the  face  of  the  airth  air  you  treatin' 
Pamely's  boy  the  way  you  be  ?  " 

"I  ain't,"  said  Prudy,  irrelevantly  and  femi 
ninely. 

Ozias  went  on,  regardless  of  her  futile  remark  : 
"  He  's  a-actin'  like  a  born  fool,  jest  because  you 
won't  not  so  much  as  look  at  him.  He  thinks  the 
sun  rises  an'  sets  in  your  face,  an'  "  — 

"  He  don't  either,"  broke  in  Prudy,  "  an'  you 
know  he  don't." 

"  I  know  he  does.  He  don't  nyther  eat  nor 
sleep  for  thinkin'  of  ye.  The  great  strong,  hulkin' 
feller  acts  like  a  sick  chicken.  Now  what 's  to 
pay?" 

"  Hm  !  "  sniffed  Prudy,  her  color  rising  and  her 
eyes  flashing.  "  I  guess  he  's  found  out  I  ain't 
Hobson's  choice  for  him,  not  noway." 

"  Whew  !  "  whistled  Ozias.  "  Who  told  you  he 
thought  you  was  ?  " 

"  Nobody.  I  heard  him  say  so  —  and  you  was 
sittin'  by  and  heard  him  too  —  in  the  cider  -  mill 
shed,  that  time  "  — 

"  Well,  if  ever  I  did ! "  and  Ozias  laughed  till 
the  woods  about  them  rang  again.  Prudy  grew 
furious.  Ozias  stopped  when  he  heard  her  angry 
sobs,  and  called  out,  "  Hopsoii  Bunnell,  step  over 
that  air  five-rail  fence,  and  come  here." 

Prudy  struggled  to  escape,  but  Ozias  held  her 
tight.  He  had  reckoned  well  on  Hopson's  over- 
punctuality,  and  the  tall  fellow  vaulted  over  the 
rails  at  his  call. 


182  HOPSON'S  CHOICE. 

"  Say,  Prudy  here  was  behind  the  shed  that  day 
me  an'  Josiah  was  a-pesterin'  you  about  sparkin' 
of  her.  Now  you  tell  what  you  said." 

"  I  ?  I  was  sort  of  riled  at  your  say  in'  that  she 
was  Hobson's  choice,  and  I  spoke  up  and  said 
't  wa'n't  so  ;  she  was  Hopson's  choice,  And  so  she 
is,  and  will  be  forevermore,  whether  she  cares  a 
cent  about  it  or  not." 

At  the  strong  ring  of  that  voice  Prudy  felt  her 
very  heart  thrill,  and  Ozias,  with  preternatural 
wisdom,  let  go  her  hands,  as  he  said :  "  I  've  al 
ways  heered  that  two  was  company  and  three  was 
none,  and  I  'm  a-goin'  to  put  the  hearsay  into  ex- 
per'ence  direckly ;  but  it 's  also  a  fact  that  two  is 
better  witness  than  one,  and  I  hereby  say  and  de 
clare,  a-holdin'  up  my  right  hand  to  wit,  that  this 
here  mortal  long  Bunnell  feller  did  say  jest  what 
he  says  he  said,  that  the  aforesaid  Prudy  was,  out 
of  all  Hop  Medder,  and  the  hull  creation  besides, 
Hopson's  choice.  And  I  swan  to  man  I  b'lieve 
she  is !  "  he  added,  looking  abroad  at  the  shag- 
barks  as  he  saw  Prudy  run  into  Hopson's  arms, 
and  kindly  left  the  two  to  their  own  company, 
whistling  as  he  went,  but  not  for  want  of  thought. 


CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

"  COME  !  hurry  up  there  !  " 

In  answer  to  the  coarse,  strong  voice  of  Goody 
Jakeway,  who  kept  the  Blisset  tavern,  her  hand 
maiden  came  from  the  kitchen  into  the  parlor  with 
a  mug  of  hot  flip  for  the  traveler  who  had  just 
alighted. 

It  was  not  strange  that  Guy  Morgan  forgot  his 
comforting  cup  as  he  looked  at  the  bearer.  Clary 
was  only  a  bound  girl,  but  nature  had  made  her  an 
aristocrat  outwardly  and  inwardly,  as  the  proud 
lift  of  her  beautiful  head,  the  serene  calm  of  her 
great  brown  eyes,  and  the  lithe  grace  of  her  fig 
ure  bore  witness.  If  hard  work  had  reddened  her 
little  hands,  it  had  not  destroyed  the  dimples  and 
taper  of  her  fingers,  or  the  exquisite  turn  of  her 
slender  wrist ;  and  her  short,  dark  skirt  of  linsey- 
woolsey  no  more  hid  the  small  arched  foot,  than 
the  coarse,  short  gown  of  linen  check  concealed 
her  noble  white  throat  or  graceful  shoulders  and 
slight  waist.  She  was  pale,  but  the  curved  red  lips 
showed  that  her  pallor  was  not  that  of  illness,  and 
if  you  but  looked  at  her  too  hard  the  very  hue 
of  a  pink  lily  flushed  that  clear  fairness  even  up 
to  the  shining  masses  of  dark  brown  hair,  tucked 
away  behind  her  tiny  ears  and  braided  in  a  heavy 


184  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

coiled  knot  like  the  tresses  of  a  Greek  statue.  If 
Clary  had  been  born  a  duchess  the  world  would 
have  heard  of  her ;  but  she  was  born  a  pauper,  and 
was  bred  in  the  poorhouse.  Perhaps  the  best 
blood  of  Old  England  ran  in  her  veins,  but  nobody 
knew  it,  and  the  orphan  child  of  an  unknown 
woman  brought  in  from  the  roadside,  dying  with 
exhaustion  and  cold,  is  not  often  credited  with  no 
ble  lineage. 

Guy  Morgan  was  Judge  Morgan's  son,  of  Litch- 
field.  The  Morgans  were  an  old  Connecticut 
family  who  had  a  genealogical  tree  to  fall  back 
on,  and  Guy  was  now  on  his  way  home  from  Har 
vard  and  its  law  school.  He  had  been  petted  in 
Boston  society,  for  his  family  were  of  the  Brahmin 
sort,  and  their  record  indorsed  him  ;  he  was  men 
tally  brilliant,  too,  and  handsome  as  a  young  prince 
is  supposed  to  be.  His  high,  regular  features  and 
dark  blue  eyes  were  alight  with  intellect  rather 
than  feeling ;  but  there  lay  a  depth  of  unrevealed 
passion  and  devotion  below  them. 

Clary  did  not  look  up  at  him,  for  she  knew 
what  eyes  were  upon  her  from  behind  the  bar  ; 
but  he  looked  at  her,*and  his  very  heart  thrilled  at 
that  wonderful  beauty,  that  gracious  shape  and 
faultless  coloring.  He  half  drained  the  mug  of 
flip  and  set  it  down  on  the  table,  turning  to  speak 
to  this  mortal  Hebe  ;  but  she  had  disappeared,  and 
nothing  was  left  for  Guy  Morgan  but  to  pay  his 
reckoning  and  mount  his  horse,  reflecting  in  him 
self,  as  he  rode  away,  that  Blisset  was  not  ten 


CLABY'S  TRIAL.  185 

miles  from  Litchfield,  and  he  could  and  would  see 
that  face  again. 

Now  he  had  seen  all  the  loveliest  women  in  Bos 
ton  over  and  over ;  they  had  danced  with  him, 
walked  with  him,  and  done  their  best  to  spoil  him, 
as  women  will  spoil  a  brilliant  and  handsome  young 
fellow.  But  not  one  of  them,  in  all  the  pride  of 
satin,  brocade,  or  jewels,  had  ever  entered  so  vic 
toriously  into  his  consciousness  as  this  country 
maiden  in  her  coarse  clothes ;  dress  adorned  them, 
but  she  adorned  dress.  He  was  a  well-read  youth, 
and  as  he  trotted  briskly  over  the  rough  roads,  up 
hill  and  down,  the  old  ballad  of  Sir  John  Suck 
ling  kept  jingling  in  his  head :  — 

Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat 
Like  little  mice  stole  in  and  out, 
As  they  had  feared  the  light. 


Her  eyes  so  guard  her  face 
I  durst  no  more  upon  them  gaze 
Than  on  the  sun  in  July. 

As  for  Clary,  she  did  not  even  give  him  a 
thought ;  for  behind  the  bar,  watching  her  as  an 
ill-conditioned  cat  glares  at  its  prey,  sat  Lon  Jake- 
way,  the  son  and  heir  of  her  mistress,  and  the  man 
poor  Clary  loved. 

Goody  Jakeway  had  taken  the  child  from  the 
poorhouse  when  she  was  ten  years  old,  finding  it 
would  be  handy  to  have  a  pair  of  quick  feet  to  ran 
her  errands,  and  ready  hands  to  wait  on  her ;  for 
her  only  child,  this  same  Alonzo,  then  about  six 
teen,  had  run  away  to  sea,  and  her  husband  was  a 


186  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

wretched,  drunken  idler.  It  was  she  who  kept  the 
family  up,  and  on  her  rested  all  the  care  of  the 
tavern  and  farm  both,  as  much  while  her  husband 
lived  as  after  his  timely  death. 

In  the  service  of  this  rough  hard  woman  Clary 
Kent  grew  up,  just  as  a  harebell  grows  in  the  crevice 
of  some  sturdy  boulder,  neither  rightly  fed  nor  shel 
tered,  shaken  by  all  wild  winds  that  blow,  nipped 
by  stinging  frosts,  scorched  by  midsummer  suns, 
but  by  the  grace  of  God  a  harebell  still,  clad  in  a 
beauty  and  grace  that  defy  position  and  ignore 
circumstance.  That  she  had  food  and  clothing  she 
owed  to  her  usefulness,  yet  they  were  doled  out 
grudgingly,  however  hard  she  earned  them  ;  while 
her  sunny  temper,  quick  perception,  fidelity,  and 
serene  activity  made  her  a  real  treasure. 

"  Well,  she  's  pretty  consider 'ble  helpful,"  owned 
her  mistress  to  Polly  Mariner,  the  tailoress,  as  she 
sat  by  the  kitchen  window  mending  Steve  the  hos 
tler's  overalls,  for  it  was  haying-time,  and  neither 
of  the  women  of  the  house  could  spare  a  moment ; 
Steve  had  to  hire  his  sewing  done. 

"  She  's  everlastin'  smart,  now,  I  tell  ye,"  snapped 
out  Polly,  viciously  snipping  at  a  patch  which 
would  not  fit ;  "  but  you  '11  have  trouble,  Mis' 
Jakeway.  She's  a  sight  too  good  lookin'  for  a 
tavern  gal ;  somebody  or  'nother  will  marry  her  up 
afore  you  can  wink,  so  to  speak,  seemin'ly.  You  'd 
as  good  get  what  you  can  out  on  her  whilst  she 
stays." 

"  My  land,  Polly  Mariner !     I  guess  folks  ain't 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  187 

in  no  gre't  pucker  to  marry  gals  from  the  poor- 
house.  I  don't  feel  no  call  whatsoever  to  fetch 
trouble  out  o'  that  idee.  She  is  reasonable  good 
lookin',  I  allow  for  't ;  but  I  '11  bet  ye  a  cooky 
she  won't  marry  them  that  wants  her,  and  them 
she  wants  won't  look  at  her.  She  's  real  high- 
strung,  considerin'  ;  but  she  does  well  by  me,  and 
she  's  got  faculty." 

"Well,  if  she  's  got  faculty,  that's  the  end  o' 
the  law,  I  expect ;  but  if  I  know  human  natur',  — 
and  it 's  everlastin'  queer  if  I  don't,  considerin'  how 
many  years  I  've  done  tailorin',  —  you  '11  reap  trou 
ble  yet  out  of  that  cretur.  I  never  was  pretty- 
lookin'  myself,  and  I  allow  it  tried  me  whilst  I  was 
young  ;  but  since  I  've  got  along  in  years  some 
I  'm  free  to  confess  I  don't  see  why  th'  Almighty 
makes  girls  good  lookin'.  It  fetches  heaps  of  mis 
chief  into  creation,  and  don't  do  no  great  o'  good, 
as  fur  as  I  know." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  're  sorter  presumptoous,  Polly 
Mariner,  to  find  fault  with  etarnal  Providence  that 
way.  You  don't  think,  do  ye,  't  you  're  smarter  'n 
the  Lord?" 

"  Land  !  how  you  talk,  Mis'  Jakeway  !  Folks 
can  have  idees,  I  guess,  without  faultin'  Provi 
dence.  Well,  I  won't  say  no  more,  —  time  '11 
show.  And  here  's  Steve  after  them  overalls  ;  my 
work  on  'em  's  worth  ninepence,  ef  it 's  worth  a 
cent." 

And  in  a  wrangle  over  the  ninepence  this  omi 
nous  conversation  ended  ;  but  not  without  leaving 


188  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

a  troubled  corner  in  Goody  Jakeway's  mind,  for 
of  the  three  things  that  never  return  to  their  first 
place  one  is  the  spoken  word. 

Two  years  rolled  away,  and  Clary  attained  the 
stature  of  her  womanhood :  her  somewhat  slender 
figure  rounded  into  fuller  outlines  of  beauty  ;  her 
girlish  grace  developed  into  stately  poise  and  su 
perb  curves ;  her  soft  eyes  learned  to  darken  with 
scorn,  or  flash  with  passion.  But  so  far  Goody 
Jakeway's  judgment  was  correct :  the  drovers  who 
came  to  the  tavern  only  disgusted  the  proud  girl 
with  their  coarse  admiration,  although  more  than 
one  would  have  gladly  married  her  ;  the  stage-driv 
ers  who  stopped  for  a  daily  dram,  and  seasoned  their 
flattery  well  with  oaths,  pleased  her  no  better ;  the 
young  louts  of  farmers,  dull,  rough,  uneducated, 
only  just  across  the  dividing  line  that  separates 
the  human  from  the  bestial,  and  far  less  attrac 
tive  than  their  own  sleek  herds, —  these,  who  as-' 
sembled  in  the  bar-room  to  talk  and  drink  and 
smoke  clay  pipes,  were  all  loathsome  to  Clary. 

Something  in  her  whole  nature  revolted  at  the 
idea  of  passing  her  life  in  any  of  these  companion 
ships,  and  besides  the  still  but  irresistible  voice  of 
nature  she  had  found  for  herself  a  certain  sort  of 
education.  Years  before  she  went  to  the  tavern  to 
live,  an  old  man  from  Hartford  had  come  to  spend 
the  summer  in  Blisset.  He  was  a  lawyer,  and  a 
native  of  the  place,  but,  having  amassed  enough 
property  to  live  on,  returned  like  a  wild  animal  to 
his  old  haunts  to  die ;  for  die  he  did  before  the 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  189 

summer  for  which  he  had  engaged  board  was  over. 
He  left  his  property  to  a  college,  but  the  books  in 
his  trunk,  and  his  clothes,  were  never  claimed.  Old 
Jakeway  wore  out  all  the  linen,  and  the  clothes 
were  cut  over  for  Alonzo's  jackets ;  the  books  re 
mained,  —  volumes  of  what  were  once  called  the 
English  Classics,  the  "  Spectator,"  the  "  Rambler," 
the  "  Tatler,"  and  all  that  genus,  with  a  volume  of 
Pope  and  one  of  Dryden,  besides  a  fine  edition  of 
Shakespeare. 

All  these  had  Clary  fed  upon  at  odd  moments 
with  the  avidity  of  a  keen  mind  deprived  of  any 
other  food,  and  they  had  been  to  her  instead  of  a 
liberal  education.  Perhaps  in  the  deepest  sense  of 
the  term  they  had  educated  her  liberally  ;  at  least, 
they  had  lit  the  lamp,  hitherto  flameless,  in  the 
alabaster  vase  of  her  beauty,  and  added  to  that 
fair  sculpture  the  brilliance  of  lofty  thought  and 
ardent  feeling  ;  but  also  they  had  unfitted  her  for 
the  stolid  life  about  her,  and  filled  her  soul  with 
that  restlessness  which  is  the  penalty  of  know 
ledge. 

Of  all  the  pregnant  fables  that  ever  streamed 
from  Shakespeare's  pen,  perhaps  the  saddest  —  to 
a  woman  —  is  that  of  Titania  and  Bottom.  It  is 
called  comedy  ordinarily ;  but  is  there  a  more  pro 
found  pathos  or  a  more  shuddering  tragedy  than  is 
contained  in  the  story  of  that  spiritual  creature's 
infatuation  for  the  weaver  with  the  ass's  head  ? 
And  what  has  time  done  since  Shakespeare's  day 
but  reiterate  the  spectacle  of  pure  and  high- 


190  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

minded  women  fondling  the  ass's  head  that  is  not 
a  mask,  and  whispering,  in  the  delicate  voice  of 
devotion,  — 

"  Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flowery  bed, 
While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy, 
And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek,  smooth  head, 
And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy." 

Clary  was  not  quite  eighteen  when  the  prodigal 
son  of  the  Jakeways  returned  from  seafaring ;  not 
as  the  prodigal  returned,  in  evil  case  outwardly, 
but  bringing  spoils  of  gold  and  garments  to  make 
him  welcome.  His  father  had  long  since  drunk 
himself  to  death,  but  the  tavern  prospered  more 
and  more,  once  relieved  from  the  drain  of  drunken 
extravagance.  When  Alonzo  came  back,  he  found 
a  warm  greeting  and  a  good  home  ;  the  sunniest 
room  in  the  house  was  swept  and  garnished  for 
him ;  the  choicest  food  and  most  deft  attendance 
awaited  him.  He  stepped  at  once  into  the  headship 
of  things  with  the  instinct  of  manhood :  lorded  it 
in  stable  and  bar-room,  ordered  about  his  mother 
and  Clary,  swore  glibly  at  old  Steve,  and  conducted 
himself  in  as  ill-conditioned  a  fashion  as  his  nature 
dictated. 

There  was  little,  one  would  think,  that  was  at 
tractive  about  Alonzo  Jake  way  :  he  was  below  the 
middle  height,  but  his  broad  shoulders  and  long 
arms,  his  powerful  muscular  development,  and  his 
large,  sinewy  hands  gave  him  a  strength  dispropor 
tionate  to  his  height ;  he  stooped  a  little,  as  most 
sailors  do,  and  his  walk  was  ungraceful.  Nor  was 


CLABY'S  TRIAL.  191 

there  anything  pleasing  about  his  face  except  a 
pair  of  handsome  keen  gray  eyes,  deep-set  under 
bushy  brows,  but  capable  of  expressing  every  sort 
of  emotion  as  only  gray  eyes  can.  Otherwise  his 
features  were  coarse,  his  mouth  large  and  sensual, 
with  a  loose  under-lip,  betraying,  when  he  smiled, 
a  set  of  strong  white  teeth,  looking  carnivorous  as 
a  tiger's.  All  this  was  capped  with  a  shock  of 
straight  pale-brown  hair  and  a  half -bronzed  forehead 
that  told  of  foreign  suns.  And  the  picture  was 
not  altogether  attractive  to  a  calm  observer  who  dis 
cerned  it  to  be  the  index  of  a  nature  passionate, 
vindictive,  selfish,  and  undisciplined  ;  intelligent 
enough,  and  capable  of  attachment  to  a  certain  ex 
tent,  but  over  all  brutal.  No  doubt  he  was  supe 
rior  to  the  men  who  frequented  Blisset  tavern  in 
many  ways  ;  his  experience  of  the  world  had  height 
ened  his  natural  self-conceit  to  such  an  extent  that 
his  opinion  was  ready  on  every  subject,  and  pro 
nounced  in  that  dictatorial  manner  that  always 
imposes  on  conscious  ignorance.  Then  his  sullen 
temper  and  self-absorbed  reserve  gave  him  an  as 
pect  of  unhappiness  that  is  the  surest  appeal  to  a 
thoroughly  feminine  character.  Yet  this  offers  no 
explanation  of  the  fact,  which  is  as  stubborn  as 
facts  proverbially  are,  that  Alonzo  had  not  lived  in 
his  mother's  house  twenty-four  hours  before  Clary 
had  lost  her  heart  out  of  her  bosom  and  dropped 
the  jewel  at  this  swine's  feet.  If  there  be  meta 
physicians  who  say  this  thing  is  impossible,  I  can 
not  confute  them  ;  it  is  true,  but  inexplicable,  that 


192  CLARY'S   TRIAL. 

there  are  women,  and  men  too,  who  are  struck  as 
by  a  bolt  from  the  clouds  with  the  one  love  of  their 
lives,  and  reason  or  probability  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it. 

Why  did  Mary  of  Scotland  love  black  Bothwell, 
or  delicate  Desdemona  the  Moor  ?  Why  have  the 
worst  ruffians  of  history  always  had  some  woman 
clinging  to  them  or  to  their  memory  until  death  ? 
And  what  evil  woman  has  not  shipwrecked  some 
good  man's  faith  and  honor,  and  made  his  life  a 
drifting,  wretched  wreck?  And  in  obedience  to 
this  mystic  and  dreadful  exception,  which  is  more 
stringent  often  than  law,  our  poor  little  wayside 
beauty  fell  desperately  and  utterly  in  love  with 
Alonzo  Jakeway.  Now  this  fellow  had  had  the 
ordinary  experience  of  sailors ;  he  was  not  unac 
quainted  with  women,  —  of  the  baser  sort,  no 
doubt,  but  still  women.  He  knew  very  well  that 
Clary  was  as  far  above  the  level  of  those  whose 
society  he  had  frequented  in  port  after  port  as  the 
blue  sky  in  heaven  is  above  its  reflection  in  a  muddy 
pool ;  yet  even  from  these  low  examples  he  had 
learned  something  of  a  woman's  nature,  which  is 
not  always  stamped  out  even  by  degradation  and 
sin,  and  it  did  not  take  Alonzo  Jakeway  long  to 
see  that  this  beautiful  young  creature  worshiped 
him  entirely,  without  any  perception  of  his  real 
character  or  instinct  of  his  baseness.  At  first  he 
was  naturally  flattered  ;  but  that  mood  only  lasted 
long  enough  to  put  a  tender  expression  into  his 
eyes,  a  softer  tone  into  his  rough  voice,  and  add  a 


CLARY'S   TRIAL.  193 

little  consideration  to  the  moody  and  sullen  man 
ners  which  were  his  home  wear  ;  and  to  the  girl's 
hungry  heart  these  crumbs  were  a  feast,  inasmuch 
as  they  seemed  to  her  infallible  promise  of  returned 
affection,  and  fed  her  day-dreams  with  the  very 
bread  of  heaven. 

In  the  bar-room,  condescending  to  his  inferiors, 
or  amusing  himself  with  the  display  of  his  own  in 
formation  and  supreme  experience,  Alonzo  could 
be  agreeable  at  times  and  affable  ;  but  there  were 
dark  hours  when  even  the  established  frequenter 
and  wit  of  the  place,  Pete  Stebbins,  found  he  was 
not  to  be  approached. 

These  glooms,  which  Clary's  tender  heart  laid  to 
the  account  of  chronic  pain,  or  sad  recollection,  or 
weariness  of  this  dull  life  he  lived,  were  in  fact 
nothing  more  than  attacks  of  ill  temper  which  he 
had  never  learned  to  subdue  or  conceal.  If  he  over 
ate  or  drank  too  much  liquor  for  his  digestion  to 
endure,  —  though  to  do  him  justice  he  was  never 
drunk,  —  he  felt,  consequently,  uncomfortable  and 
angry,  and  the  world  about  him  had  to  bear  it, 
especially  the  women.  Had  he  been  brought  up 
in  polite  society,  where  the  outside  friction  of  well- 
bred  people  from  infancy  does,  in  spite  of  the  ut 
most  self-indulgence  and  uncurbed  temper,  modify 
a  man's  manner  and  speech,  he  would  still  have 
been,  like  a  hundred  others,  "street  angel  and 
house  devil,"  and  being  essentially  a  Coward  he 
did,  even  here  in  Blisset,  restrain  his  evil  tongue 
somewhat  among  men ;  but  his  mother  and  Clary 


194  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

were  at  his  mercy  ;  they  could  neither  knock  him 
down  nor  return  his  oaths.  Whenever  things  in 
ternally  went  wrong  with  him,  or  outside  matters 
swerved  from  the  line  he  ordered,  it  was  on  these 
two  shrinking  women  that  his  temper  burst ;  for 
even  his  mother,  hard,  rough,  enduring  as  she  was, 
cowered  before  Alonzo,  —  because  she  loved  him  ! 
It  is  a  common  saying  that  if  a  horse  knew  its 
own  strength  no  man  could  guide  or  mount  one ; 
but  is  it  any  less  true  that  if  a  man  knew  his  real 
strength  he  might  do  anything  with  women  ?  If 
Alonzo  had  possessed  enough  knowledge  of  charac 
ter  to  understand  himself,  he  could  and  would  have 
led  these  two  in  a  leash  after  him  forever  ;  even  as 
it  was  he  guided  them  far  and  along  cruel  ways 
before  they  knew  their  guide  and  the  path  before 
them.  It  was  this  utter  absorption  of  herself  in 
Alonzo  Jake  way  that  blinded  Clary's  sight  to  Guy 
Morgan  that  day  he  stopped  in  Blisset  to  get  his 
mug  of  flip.  He  might  have  been  one  of  the 
"  plough  joggers,"  as  Alonzo  derisively  styled  the 
rural  farmers  thereabouts,  or  a  pig  drover,  for  all 
the  notice  Clary  bestowed  on  him ;  but  from  his 
retreat  behind  the  bar  Alonzo  noticed  the  long  and 
unmistakable  stare  of  admiration  Guy  bestowed 
on  his  handmaiden,  and  a  sort  of  wolfish  jealousy 
sprang  up  in  his  breast,  mingled  with  a  sudden  greed 
of  money  hitherto  latent.  Up  to  this  time  he  had 
no  thought  of  marrying  Clary ;  he  knew  very  well 
what  his  mother  would  say  to  that,  and  he  did  not 
himself  care  to  be  tied  up  in  legitimate  bonds.  He 


CLARIS  TRIAL.  195 

could  amuse  himself  with  her  to  the  very  brink  of 
her  ruin,  or  beyond  it,  if  so  he  pleased,  but  it  was 
not  for  his  pleasure  to  live  with  mother  and  wife 
at  daggers  drawn  in  one  house.  For  sin  or  shame 
he  cared  nothing  ;  the  very  purity  of  Clary's  sim 
ple  and  devoted  nature  would  add  a  charm  to  the 
lazy  pursuit  whose  success  he  never  doubted  ;  and 
as  to  her  future,  who  cares  for  the  fate  of  a  flower  ? 
Should  it  not  wither  and  die  when  its  fragrance  is 
over  ?  Nothing  so  metaphoric  passed  through  his 
mind,  but  this  is  the  most  delicate  expression  to  be 
found  for  his  instincts,  which  indeed  need  the  veil 
of  metaphor.  But  when  he  saw  Guy  Morgan's 
look  at  Clary,  and  perceived  that  a  man's  admira 
tion  could  be  respectful,  it  shot  across  his  mind  that 
the  girl  might  become  a  great  and  lucrative  attrac 
tion  in  his  business.  This  young  spark,  whose 
aspect  and  dress  proved  his  wealth  and  position, 
might  be  the  opening  wedge,  and  spread  the  fame 
of  the  beautiful  bar-maid  in  adjacent  towns.  Blis- 
set  was  on  a  frequented  turnpike,  and  stages  from 
Hartford  to  Litchfield,  and  so  on  to  Albany,  ran 
through  it.  A  little  exertion  might  induce  them  to 
stop  there  for  dinner  instead  of  at  Litchfield ;  and 
then,  —  well,  if  some  crazy  city  fool,  as  he  phrased 
it,  saw  this  girl,  she  might  be  snapped  up  out  of 
his  reach  and  use.  As  his  wife,  this  would  be  im 
possible  ;  she  would  be  a  fixture  in  the  tavern,  and 
an  attraction,  while  in  this  Puritan  country  what 
ever  shame  attached  itself  to  a  less  honorable  con 
nection  would  redound  to  his  discredit  and  injure 
his  business. 


196  CLARY'S  TEIAL. 

Beside,  if  Clary  were  his  wife,  young  sparks  like 
Guy  Morgan  would  have  to  be  careful  how  they 
stared  at  her  ;  and  here  Alonzo  stretched  out  one 
long  arm  and  clenched  fist,  with  a  sudden  gleam  of 
ferocity  in  his  eye  that  showed  what  vengeance 
would  be  visited  on  any  man  who  meddled  with  his 
property. 

So,  following  the  devices  of  his  own  craft  and 
will,  he  began  to  word  the  love  he  had  hitherto  only 
looked  at  poor  Clary ;  a  whisper  now  and  then,  a 
pressure  of  the  soft  little  hand  in  his  own,  a  stolen 
kiss,  a  gentle  carefulness,  —  all  these  produced 
their  effect  on  the  guileless  and  tender  heart  of  this 
lonely* girl.  Busy  about  her  house,  Goody  Jake- 
way  saw  nothing  of  Alonzo's  manoeuvres ;  he  was 
not  ready  yet  that  she  should  ;  he  did  not,  indeed, 
mean  to  have  any  previous  storms.  The  plan  that 
suited  his  ease  and  assured  him  success  was  that  on 
some  pretext  or  other  Clary  should  be  sent  to  Hart 
ford,  and  he  either  follow  her,  or  take  her  there  ; 
that  she  should  stay  long  enough  to  make  their  mar 
riage  legal ;  and  then,  when  the  ceremony  was  once 
over,  they  should  return  to  Blisset,  and  let  his 
mother  help  herself  if  she  could. 

He  found  chance  enough  to  insinuate  his  design 
into  Clary's  ear :  if  she  went  to  the  barn  to  hunt 
eggs,  he  was  sure  to  be  there  before  her,  with  some 
excuse  of  inspecting  harness  or  examining  the  straw, 
and  in  among  the  bean-vines,  where  she  went  to 
gather  long  pods  for  dinner,  he  would  be  diligently 
at  work  also  ;  when  she  was  sent  to  gather  wild 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  197 

strawberries  on  the  hill,  he  lurked  in  the  edge  of  a 
neighboring  wood,  and  joined  her,  till  at  last,  be 
tween  her  overpowering  passion  and  his  plausible 
arguments,  she  consented  to  accept  his  arrange 
ments,  and  be  in  readiness  to  set  out  for  Hartford 
as  soon  as  his  plots  matured.  But  "  God  disposes," 
let  us  thankfully  own.  Before  anything  was  even 
fixed  upon  in  Alonzo  Jakewaj^'s  mind,  a  very  small 
household  matter,  the  mouse  that  gnawed  the  lion's 
net,  intervened.  His  stock  of  shirts  began  to  wear 
out,  and  his  mother,  who  had  inwardly  resented  the 
fact  that  he  came  home  with  a  goodly  supply  of 
these  articles,  when  she  had  a  web  of  the  finest 
Irish  linen  laid  up  these  seven  years  waiting  his 
need,  and  yards  of  linen  cambric  bought  in  order 
to  ruffle  them,  was  only  too  glad  to  install  Polly 
Mariner  in  the  keeping-room,  with  patterns  and 
shears,  thread  of  the  best,  and  store  of  needles,  in 
order  to  take  in  hand  a  dozen  of  ruffled  shirts  for 
my  master ;  for  Polly  was  as  skillful  at  nice  sewing 
as  at  tailoring,  and  her  stitching  was  not  to  be 
matched  in  Blisset,  even  -by  Parson  Piper's  daugh 
ter.  She  had  scarce  been  at  work  three  days  on 
the  dainty  fabric  when  there  was  an  interruption 
to  her  duties  from  a  very  unexpected  quarter.  As 
she  left  her  door  one  July  day  to  go  over  to  the 
tavern,  she  almost  stumbled  over  the  prostrate  shape 
of  a  man  lying  with  his  head  on  her  doorstep.  At 
first  she  thought  him  some  drunken  person  who  had 
lain  down  there  to  sleep ;  but  calling  her  next  neigh 
bor,  Pete  Stebbins,  who  was  feeding  his  hens  at  the 


198  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

back  door,  to  come  and  help  her,  she  soon  disco  v 
ered  that  the  man  was  burning  with  fever  and  quite 
unconscious.  He  was  evidently  a  sailor,  and  there 
was  good  store  of  pieces  of  eight  and  English 
guineas  in  his  pocket,  but  no  clue  to  his  name  any 
where  about  his  person.  Pete  was  ready  enough 
to  take  him  in  and  shelter  him  when  he  saw  the 
gold  pieces,  and  Polly  promised  to  stop  for  Dr. 
Root.  All  of  this  made  her  late  for  her  sewing 
that  day,  and  Goody  Jakeway  sent  Alonzo  over  to 
see  where  the  seamstress  was,  being  in  a  hurry  to 
get  the  shirts  done. 

He  did  not  find  her  at  home,  for  she  was  in  the 
doctor's  office  ;  so  he  sauntered  into  Pete's  house  to 
make  inquiry,  and  finding  no  one  in  the  kitchen 
went  on  into  the  bedroom.  Just  as  he  entered  the 
doorway  the  strange  man  recovered  consciousness 
and  opened  his  eyes.  Alonzo  started  as  if  he  had 
been  shot,  turned  the  color  of  clay,  and  drew  back. 
A  sort  of  spasm  convulsed  the  stranger  ;  he  clenched 
his  hands  and  tried  to  spring  at  Alonzo,  but  his 
muscles  refused  to  obey  the  angry  will ;  the  fevered 
brain  gave  way  with  the  effort,  and  he  sank  again 
into  stupor  and  delirium. 

In  Alonzo's  astonishment  he  quite  forgot  that 
Pete  Stebbins  stood  by  the  bedside,  and  had  eyes 
whose  acuteness  seemed  to  make  up  in  rapidity  of 
perception  for  the  inborn  laziness  of  his  tempera 
ment. 

That  night  when  Polly  went  over  to  watch  with 
the  sick  man  (for  Mrs.  Stebbins  was  a  deaf  and 


CLARY'S   TRIAL.  199 

dumb  woman,  and  of  no  use  here),  Pete  accosted 
her  with,  "  Say  I  ye  ben  to  the  tavern  to-day  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  have,"  answered  Polly,  "  I  'm 
a-makin'  Lon  Jake  way  a  set  o'  shirts  fit  for  a  lord, 
and  he  's  in  an  everlastin'  takin'  to  get  'em  done,  I 
do'  know  what  for  ;  but  Mis'  Jakeway  she  pesters 
me  so,  seems  as  if  I  should  caterpillar.  I  can't 
sew  no  faster  'n  I  can,  if  the  sky  falls.  Stitchin' 
ain't  flyin'  work,  now,  I  tell  ye  ;  and  it 's  seventeen 
hunderd  linen,  as  sure  as  you  're  alive  ;  and  them 
ruffles !  Gosheii !  I  'd  jest  as  soon  put  them 
things  on  to  the  old  ram  as  on  to  Lonzo  ;  there 
ain't  no  fitness,  so  to  speak,  seemin'ly,  in  dressin' 
sech  a  feller  in  purple  an'  fine  linen." 

"  W-e-11,"  drawled  Pete.  "  I  expect  he  's  a  hard 
cretur.  I  don't  reely  want  to  tell  on  't  '  a-flyin'  i\l\ 
abroad,'  as  the  hymn-book  says,  but  he  come  in  here 
to-day  for  suthin'  or  'nother,  and  opened  the  door 
jest  as  this  sick  feller  kinder  come  to  I  'd  gin  him 
a  swingein'  dose  of  brandy,  ye  see,  fourth  proof, 
only  jest  sort  o'  laced  with  water,  an'  I  guess  it 
stung.  He  riz  up  in  bed  and  he  see  Lonzo,  and 
Lon  he  see'd  him.  Good  Jerus'lem  !  I  wisht 
you  'd  seen  Lonzo's  physimogony  ;  he  was  jest  the 
color  of  a  cold  biled  turnip.  I  never  did !  And 
this  feller  he  sot  his  teeth  and  kinder  give  a  spring. 
Law !  he  could  n't  do  it  no  more  'n  a  broken-kneed 
grasshopper ;  he  gin  out  dyrect,  and  went  off  stupid 
agin.  But  you  bet  there  's  suthin'  out  o'  shape  be 
twixt  'em  ! " 

"  Well,  I  b'lieve  you  \  "  exclaimed  Polly.     "  And 


200  CLARY'S   TRIAL. 

what 's  more  I  mistrust  Lonzo  is  kind  of  sweet  on 
Clary  Kent.  I  hope  't  ain't  so  ;  she  's  a  real  pretty 
girl,  —  as  good  a  girl  as  ever  was  ;  but  I  keep  an 
eye  out,  you  may  rely  on  't,  and  things  looks  real 
dubious.  I  don't  say  nothin',  for  Goody  Jakeway 
ain't  aware  on  't,  and  she  'd  like  to  kill  anybody  short 
o'  royal  blood  that  durst  to  marry  Lon ;  but  I 
b'lieve  I  '11  speak  to  Clary.  I  reely  think  't 's  my 
duty." 

"  Oh  Lord  !  don't  ye  do  it,  then  !  "  groaned 
Pete  (whose  real  name  by  the  way  was  Petrarch  !). 
"  I  've  allers  noticed  when  women-folks  got  a-goin' 
on  dooty,  they  'd  say  the  meanest,  hatefulest  things 
that  ever  was  !  Say  ye  like  to  torment  a  gal,  an' 
take  her  down  mortally,  an'  you  '11  mabbe  see  how 't 
is,  reely ;  but  say  it 's  '  dooty,'  an'  there  ain't  no 
whoa  to  ye,  no  more  'n  to  my  old  mare  when  she 
gets  her  head.  I  don't  see  where  it 's  folks's  dooty 
to  say  pesky  things,  any  way ;  ef  it 's  suthiu'  real 
agreeable,  why  "  — 

But  here  the  harangue  was  cut  off  by  a  cry  from 
the  bedroom  ;  they  found  the  patient  stupid  no 
longer,  but  raving  and  crying  out  fiercely,  "  I  '11 

fetch  him,  my  lass ;  cheer  up,  Mary  !  D d 

rascal !  Let  me  go  !  Let  me  go  !  I  want  to  get  at 
him  !  " 

Polly  was  an  accomplished  nurse,  and  under  her 
medicaments  the  poor  fellow  became  more  quiet ; 
but  at  intervals  through  the  night  he  talked  wildly, 
always  on  one  theme, —  a  poor  girl's  desertion,  the 
girl  seeming  to  be  his  sister,  and  his  fierce  desire 


CLARY'S   TRIAL.  201 

to  get  hold  of  the  man  and  punish  him.  In  the 
later  hours  of  the  night  his  ravings  grew  less  and 
he  weaker  ;  only  once  he  sprang  up  and  glared  at 
the  door,  swearing  a  great  oath.  "  It 's  you,  is  it  ? 
I  've  run  you  to  earth,  you  villain  !  I  've  got  her 
marriage  lines,  and  I  '11  clap  you  into  Bridewell  if 
I  don't  kiU  you  first !  " 

Polly  stroked  and  coaxed  and  sung  a  sweet  old 
hymn  to  him,  till  she  could  persuade  him  to  swal 
low  a  cup  of  strong  skull-cap  tea,  and  either  from 
pure  exhaustion  or  the  mild  narcotic  and  stimulating 
warmth  of  his  dose  he  fell  into  uneasy  slumber ;  and 
then  she  stole  out  and  called  Pete,  who  was  mak 
ing  a  fire  in  the  kitchen,  and  asked  him  if  he  found 
anything  in  the  stranger's  wallet  except  money. 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  look  no  further ;  when  I  come 
to  the  sinners  o'  war,  why  I  see  't  was  all  right. 
Folks  that  hez  money  in  their  pockets  is  giner'lly 
about  right,  'cordin'  to  my  b'lief.  I  '11  fetch  the 
puss  an'  see." 

"  I  wisht  you  would,"  said  Miss  Polly.  "  I  Ve 
got  my  own  misgivin's,  'count  o'  what  he  said; 
seems  to  hev  suthin'  on  his  mind." 

So  Pete  brought  the  old  wallet,  worn  and  stained, 
and  left  it  with  Miss  Polly,  who  searched  it 
thoroughly,  and  at  last  discovered  in  its  inmost  fold, 
indeed,  where  it  had  slipped  between  lining  and 
outside,  a  dirty  and  creased  but  quite  legible  cer 
tificate  of  marriage  between  Mary  Harris,  of  Liver 
pool,  England,  and  Alonzo  Jakeway,  of  Blisset, 
America. 


202  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

Polly  was  a  woman  of  discretion,  though  she 
loved  to  talk.  She  resolved  not  to  make  her  dis 
covery  public,  for  to  trust  it  to  Pete  was  as  if  it 
were  printed  in  the  local  column  of  a  county  paper ; 
he  served  as  the  news  medium  for  all  Blisset,  where 
only  one  copy  of  any  journal,  the  small,  dull  sheet 
of  the  "  Hartford  Weekly  Courant  "  as  it  existed 
in  1790,  was  taken,  and  that  only  by  the  minister. 

She  answered  Pete's  inquiries  astutely,  when  he 
came  back  from  the  shed,  by  displaying  an  old  brass 
ring,  a  slip  from  an  English  paper  with  ship  news 
on  it,  a  true-lover's-knot  of  blue  ribbon  with  a  curl 
of  gold  hair  caught  in  its  tie,  and  half  a  rollick 
ing  ballad,  such  as  hawkers  sold  about  the  old 
country. 

"Had  your  labor  for  your  pains,  didn't  ye?" 
chuckled  Pete. 

"'T  wa'n't  no  great  o'  labor,"  laughed  Polly, 
disagreeably  conscious  that  her  own  small  buck 
skin  purse  contained  Alonzo  Jakeway's  secret,  and 
perhaps  poor  Clary's  heart-break. 

It  would  indeed  have  been  a  good  day  for  Alonzo 
that  had  spared  him  those  new  shirts,  and  sent 
Polly  Mariner  in  another  direction  !  But  her  dis 
covery  bore  consequences  she  did  not  dream  of, 
though  they  delayed  long.  After  it  she  kept  a 
closer  watch  than  ever  on  Clary,  and  made  up  her 
mind  that  she  must  interpose  at  once  to  save  the 
girl  from  ruin. 

Alonzo  had  gone  to  New  York  the  day  after  his 
interview  with  the  stranger,  if  such  the  mere  rec- 


CLARY'S   TRIAL.  203 

ognition  could  be  called,  but  returned  as  soon  us 
possible.  He  would  not  have  gone  at  all  except 
on  urgent  business,  and  he  came  back  by  way  of 
Hartford,  in  order  to  persuade  his  old  aunt  that  she 
ought  to  send  out  to  Blisset  for  Clary  to  come  and 
stay  with  her  a  while,  to  wait  upon  her.  Aunt 
Smith  was  held  in  great -regard  by  Goody  Jake- 
way.  She  was  the  only  near  relative  her  husband 
had  left ;  but  that  never  would  have  commended 
her  to  the  good  graces  of  her  niece  in  Blisset,  ex 
cept  for  the  fact  that  she  was  the  widow  of  a  well- 
to-do  grocer  who  had  kindly  left  her  all  his  goods 
and  chattels  to  dispose  of  as  she  would,  to  the  great 
anger  of  his  own  relations.  When  Alonzo  reached 
home,  with  an  urgent  invitation  from  his  aunt  to 
have  Clary  come  and  visit  her,  it  happened  that 
Polly  Mariner,  so  as  to  see  better,  had  taken  one  of 
the  shirts  upstairs  to  a  south  window.  The  next 
room  was  Clary's,  and  Polly  could  not  help  over 
hearing  a  conversation  between  her  and  Alonzo 
that  betrayed  to  her  their  plans,  for  their  voices 
were  quite  unguarded  ;  Goody  Jakeway  being  three 
miles  off  at  a  quilting,  and  Clary  quite  certain  that 
the  tailoress  was  where  she  left  her  two  hours  be 
fore,  in  the  keeping-room,  not  in  the  least  suspect 
ing  that  the  sharp  ears  of  this  equally  sharp-eyed 
woman  were  just  the  other  side  of  a  thin  partition 
in  one  of  the  unused  tavern  bedrooms.  Polly  could 
bide  her  time,  but  she  saw  that  in  this  instance  she 
must  be  prompt.  To-day  was  Tuesday,  and  on 
Thursday  Clary  was  to  go  to  Hartford ;  for  Alonzo 


204  CLARY'S   TRIAL. 

well  knew  that  however  his  mother  might  grumble 
she  could  not,  or  rather  dared  not,  offend  his  aunt 
Smith  by  denying  her  request.  So  after  tea,  when 
Polly  was  ready  to  go  home,  she  asked  Clary  to 
walk  along  with  her  and  fetch  back  some  red  balm 
flowers  she  had  promised  Goody  Jakeway,  as  her 
task  at  the  shirts  was  done  now.  They  stopped  at 
the  minister's  house  on  the  way,  and  Polly  made 
her  companion  sit  down  in  the  hall  while  she  her 
self  went  into  Parson  Piper's  study,  and  came  back 
with  a  folded  paper  in  her  hand.  Then  she  hur 
ried  Clary  on,  and  as  soon  as  they  had  reached  the 
spinster's  queer  little  brown  house,  she  drew  her 
into  the  parlor,  and  without  a  word  of  explanation 
laid  before  her  Alonzo  Jakeway's  marriage  certifi 
cate.  It  was  Polly's  belief  that  a  sharp,  quick 
thrust  is  the  truest  mercy ;  but  it  was  not  pleasant 
to  see  Clary's  beautiful  face  turn  dead  and  white 
as  a  marble  mask.  Her  hand  clutched  at  her 
throat  a  moment  as  if  something  choked  her,  and 
then  she  gasped,  "  I  don't  believe  it !  " 

"  Well,  child,  that  don't  make  it  so,"  said  Polly 
sadly.  "  It  looks  true,  and  I  've  took  means  to 
find  if  so  be  't  is  or  't  is  n't ;  but  Parson  Piper  he 
hain't  a  doubt  on  't.  He  's  heered  tell  of  the  man 
that 's  put  his  name  to  't,  him  that  married  'ern  ; 
he  's  chaplain  to  some  seaman's  meetin'-house  or 
'nother  over  there  to  Liverpool.  Any  way,  if  ever 
that  sick  feller  comes  to  rights,  he  '11  know  the 
upshot  on  't." 

Clary   said    not  another   word ;  like   a    stunned 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  205 

creature  she  set  her  face  toward  the  tavern  and 
dragged  her  slow  steps  thither ;  while  Polly,  know 
ing  that  Alonzo  had  gone  to  fetch  his  mother  home 
from  the  quilting,  hastened  back  to  give  the  certi 
ficate  into  Parson  Piper's  hands  again,  and  the 
worthy  man  proposed,  as  he  was  going  to  drive 
over  to  Litchfield  early  in  the  morning,  that  he 
should  take  the  paper  over  and  have  an  attested 
copy  made  of  it,  to  guard  against  accident. 

He  and  Polly  both  knew  that  accident  meant 
Alonzo,  but  with  proper  respect  for  the  decencies 
kept  the  knowledge  to  themselves.  And  well  they 
might  have  dreaded  his  rage,  for  poor  Clary,  after 
a  night  of  dreadful  anguish  and  struggle  with  her 
self,  resolved  to  tell  him  at  once.  A  less  simple 
and  humble  nature  might  have  trembled  and  dal 
lied  with  some  temporizing  arguments,  but  Clary 
had  in  her  soul  one  desire,  of  Heaven's  own  plant 
ing,  that  had  divine  endurance  and  strength,  —  the 
honest  desire  to  do  right.  She  knew  it  was  utterly 
wrong  even  to  love  Alonzo  if  he  was  another  wo 
man's  husband,  and  she  meant  to  give  all  her  ener 
gies  to  unlearn  the  passion  that  held  her  in  such 
dear  slavery.  But  the  first  step  was  plain  and 
near  :  she  must  tell  him,  to  begin  with,  that  she 
knew  his  double-dealing,  and  then  take  the  rest  of 
her  life  to  forget  her  past. 

It  is  true  that  she  ought,  according  to  the  strict 
code  of  feminine  morals,  to  have  ceased  at  once  to 
have  any  tender  feeling  toward  such  a  sinner  ;  but 
poor  Clary  loved  him  !  It  was  like  taking  her  life 


206  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

in  her  hand  to  withdraw  him  to  the  barn  on  some 
pretext  early  in  the  morning,  and  tell  what  she  had 
discovered.  The  storm  that  ensued  was  fearful. 
Alonzo  Jakeway  was  not  accustomed  to  thwarting  •, 
he  would  just  as  soon  have  expected  the  white  rose 
bush  by  the  window  to  uproot  itself  and  try  to 
scratch  him  as  to  have  Clary  rebel  if  he  asked  of 
her  the  most  menial  service,  but  to  have  her  fly  in 
his  face  like  this  was  outrageous. 

Having  partially  exhausted  his  fury  in  words  and 
threats  poured  out  upon  the  trembling  creature  be 
fore  him,  he  thrust  her  roughly  aside,  and  hurried 
over  to  Pete  Stebbins's  house  to  see  if  the  sick  man 
was  yet  able  to  speak  rationally,  determined  to  stop 
his  tongue  by  either  force  or  bribes,  and  to  tell 
some  plausible  lie  to  Clary ;  for  he  had  already  de 
clared  to  her  with  a  fearful  oath  that  the  story  was 
false.  He  had  kept  close  watch  over  this  stranger's 
condition,  not  personally,  but  through  others,  and 
he  knew  very  well  that  his  delirium  had  continued 
and  his  strength  grown  less  every  day  ;  but  he  did 
not  know  that  in  those  ravings  his  own  name  had 
more  than  once  met  Pete  Stebbins's  ear  and  aroused 
his  suspicions. 

To-day  Alonzo  hurried  to  the  house,  determined 
to  end  the  suspense  that  enraged  him.  The  morn 
ing  was  calm  and  full  of  July's  rich  odors ;  beds  of 
fern  breathed  their  delicate  perfume  on  the  fresh, 
soft  air,  and  the  silence  of  summer  filled  all  the 
sky  ;  the  sad  broad  fields,  the  granite  ribs  of  earth, 
the  quiet  woods,  all  were  lapped  in  peace.  There 


CLARY'S  TEIAL.  207 

was  not  a  sound  in  Pete  Stebbins's  old  red  house 
as  the  angry  man  strode  across  to  the  bedroom, 
whose  door  stood  ajar,  and  where  lay  the  heart  of 
all  silence,  majestic  death.  Though  the  couch  on 
which  the  pulseless  limbs  lay  straight  and  cold  was 
poor,  with  no  folds  of  drapery  or  garlanded  blos 
soms,  though  the  sheet  that  revealed  the  immobile 
outline  was  coarse  and  scant,  no  king  lying  in  state 
had  more  serenity  on  his  white  brow  or  more  awful 
meaning  in  his  pallid  lips  than  this  dead  sailor,  for 
his  face  was  at  once  accuser  and  judge  of  the  crim 
inal  before  him.  And  as  Alonzo  stood  and  stared 
at  that  sculptural  mass,  memory  forced  upon  him 
another  vision,  another  face,  twin  to  this,  except  as 
woman  never  is  twin  to  man,  crowned  with  just 
such  clustering  gold,  lit  with  such  great  blue  eyes 
as  he  knew  lay  beneath  those  sealed  lids ;  and  he 
heard  a  voice  saying  in  sonorous  English  ac 
cents  :  — 

"  Whom  God  hath  joined  together  let  not  man 
put  asunder  !  " 

He  turned  away  silently,  and  quitted  the  house 
like  one  in  a  dream ;  but  as  he  left  the  door  Pete's 
yellow  dog  leaped  up  and  flew  at  him,  and  the  tri 
vial  attack  turned  back  the  unwonted  current  of 
his  thought.  He  kicked  the  creature  out  of  his 
path,  and  felt  a  fierce  thrill  of  joy  to  think  that 
just  so  this  babbler  had  been  flung  from  his  track ; 
there  was  only  the  certificate  now,  and  this  he  must 
coax  out  of  Polly  Mariner. 

But  Polly  was  not  to  be  coaxed  ;  her  black  eyes 


208  CLARY'S  TRIAL 

snapped  as  she  told  him  with  serene  but  triumphant 
contempt  that  Parson  Piper  had  it  in  his  posses 
sion  and  was  gone  to  Litchfield. 

"  'T  ain't  110  use  to  swear !  "  she  remarked 
blandly.  "  You  can't  get  it  to-day,  nohow,  and 
you  can't  ondo  it  if  you  could.  Black  an'  white 
don't  lie  ;  "  and  Alonzo  bitterly  owned  to  himself 
that  this  was  true. 

However,  he  did  see  the  certificate  in  due  time, 
and  vindicated  the  parson's  penetration  as  well  as 
Miss  Polly's  ;  for  no  sooner  had  the  document  been 
placed  in  his  hands  than  he  tore  it  in  pieces  and 
threw  them  all  from  the  open  window,  looking 
round  to  see  only  a  calm  smile  on  the  parson's  face, 
and  to  hear  :  - 

"You  have  done  no  harm,  young  man  ;  that  was 
but  an  attested  copy,  and  there  are  more.  Beside 
that,  the  original  is  not  in  reach." 

Nothing  now  remained  for  the  baffled  man  but 

O 

to  make  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  the  best  was 
bad.  The  affair  could  not  be  kept  from  his 
mother,  of  course,  and  she  was  furious  ;  her  rage 
all  fell  upon  poor  Clary,  who  found  it  easier  to 
bear  than  the  other  anguish  which  had  befallen 
her,  and  who  did  her  best  to  please  and  serve  her 
mistress,  in  the  vain  hope  of  some  future  peace. 
It  so  happened  that  her  term  of  bondage  was  not 
quite  over ;  it  had  been  specially  extended  in  her 
case  to  her  nineteenth  year,  because  she  was  eleven 
years  old  when  the  authorities  indentured  her  to 
Mrs.  Jakeway.  It  might  have  been  the  first 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  209 

result  of  that  woman's  wrath  to  turn  Clary  out  of 
the  house  ;  but  she  could  not  do  so  legally,  and 
when  the  first  bursts  of  fury  had  expended  them 
selves  she  felt  that  the  girl's  services  were  worth 
too  much  to  pait  with,  and  she  could  at  least  have 
the  satisfaction  of  making  her  feel  in  every  fibre 
what  presumption  and  crime  she  had  been  guilty 
of,  not  only  in  daring  to  love  Alonzo,  but  in  sup 
posing  he  really  meant  to  marry  her,  and  then  in 
"  turning  up  her  nose  at  him,"  as  Goody  Jakeway 
expressed  it,  merely  because  she  imagined  he  was 
married  over  seas !  So  Clary's  daily  bread  was 
doled  out  to  her  with  a  full  allowance  of  coarse 
taunts,  bitter  reproaches,  vulgar  revilings,  and  the 
low  but  torturing  scoffs  a  coarse  and  hard  woman 
knows  too  well  how  to  bestow  on  a  sensitive, 
shrinking  girl  whom  she  has  in  her  power.  Truly 
she  watered  her  food  with  her  tears,  and  her  nights 
were  full  of  an  anguish  which  the  torments  of  the 
day  only  delayed  till  their  hour  and  power  should 
come  upon  her.  But  worst  of  all  —  far,  far  worse 
than  his  mother's,  fiercest  tyranny  —  was  the  per 
sistent  endeavor  of  Alonzo  to  make  her  put  aside 
her  sense  of  right  and  duty  and  elope  with  him. 

He  swore  by  every  oath  he  knew  that  the  woman 
he  once  married  in  Liverpool  was  dead,  —  dead 
long  ago  ;  but  he  could  not  prove  it.  Then  he  said 
the  marriage  never  was  legal,  for  there  were  no 
witnesses ;  but  this  excuse  revolted  Clary  more 
than  his  first  subterfuge  appeased  her.  He  uttered 
every  lie  he  could  think  of,  and  used  every  threat 


210  CLABY'S  TRIAL. 

his  experience  suggested ;  and  when  they  all  failed 
against  the  strength  of  a  pure  purpose  in  this  fra 
gile,  heart-broken,  wretched  girl  he  pleaded  with 
the  traitor  within  her,  divining  in  his  devilish  sub 
tlety  that  she  loved  him  as  only  a  woman  can  love, 
in  spite  of  his  anger,  his  cruelty,  his  lies,  or  his  at 
tempts  to  make  her  as  evil  as  himself.  It  was  his 
tender  words,  the  passion  in  his  beautiful  eyes,  the 
thrill  of  sadness  and  longing  in  his  voice,  that  shook 
and  melted  her  very  soul ;  from  which  she  with 
drew,  trembling  and  tempted,  to  fall  on  her  knees 
and  beg  for  strength  from  Heaven  to  deny  herself 
as  well  as  her  lover.  And  all  this  obstinacy,  as  he 
called  it,  only  fired  Alonzo's  determination  to  ob 
tain  the  prize.  Had  she  been  easy  of  attainment, 
no  doubt  his  desire  to  marry  her,  once  fulfilled, 
would  have  degenerated  into  coldness  and  indiffer 
ence.  It  had  indeed  at  first  been  rather  as  a  mat 
ter  of  policy  and  gain  that  he  proposed  to  give  her 
a  legitimate  right  to  share  his  position  in  the 
house ;  but  now  he  was  in  vital  earnest  about  it, 
and  the  more  strenuously  she  resisted  anger,  threat, 
or  prayer,  the  more  he  set  himself  to  form  new 
plans  to  subdue  her,  and  the  more  furiously  he 
flung  himself  against  all  the  obstacles  that  she 
opposed  to  him,  —  lying  awake  by  night  and  brood 
ing  darkly  by  day  over  the  invention  of  a  new 
malice  or  a  closer  tightening  of  grip  that  might 
make  her  yield.  For,  once  married,  he  could  defy 
his  mother  and  order  her  out  of  the  house  if  he 
chose  ;  while  as  to  Mary  Harris,  he  had  long  ceased 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  211 

to  fear  her,  since  her  brother ^was  dead,  and  she  had 
nobody  now  to  help  or  interfere  for  her. 

Through  all  this  summer  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
Guy  Morgan  had  forgotten  the  beautiful  girl  of 
Blisset  tavern.  Many  an  excuse  he  made  to  him 
self  for  extending  his  drives  or  rides  as  far  as  that 
little  village ;  many  a  time  the  yellow  gig  and  high- 
stepping  black  horse  stopped  before  the  door  and 
were  taken  round  to  the  barn,  while  he  sat  down  to 
a  common  country  dinner  for  the  sake  of  being 
waited  on  by  Clary.  Deeper  and  deeper  did  the 
fair  image  that  already  occupied  Guy  Morgan's 
heart  sink  into  that  goodly  abode,  though  Clary 
never  had  given  him  a  sly  look  or  a  flitting  smile. 
It  was  the  old  merry-go-round  of  life  repeated. 
Guy  loved  her  ;  she  loved  Alonzo  ;  he  loved  —  him 
self  !  and,  knowing  him  to  be  jealous  as  no  one  but 
a  selfish  man  can  be,  Clary  dared  not  offer  the  com 
monest  courtesies  of  life  to  any  other  man,  much 
less  Guy  Morgan.  She  keenly  appreciated  this 
handsome  young  fellow's  grace,  refinement,  high 
breeding,  and  kindliness,  but  it  was  with  a  passion 
of  self-devotion  which  only  a  woman  in  love  —  a 
woman  like  her  —  can  know,  that  she  rejoiced  to 
keep  even  her  outward  manner  cold  and  reserved 
except  to  him  she  loved.  Polly  Mariner's  sharp 
eyes,  however,  soon  perceived  the  situation.  She 
knew  very  well  that  the  Morgans  would  not  coun 
tenance  Guy's  infatuation,  and  she  knew  too  that 
he  was  a  gentleman,  —  a  word  that  meant  some 
thing  in  those  days,  —  and  would  not  harm  Clary 


212  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

in  word  or  deed,  so  she  only  smiled  to  herself  at 
the  little  drama  before  her  ;  for,  like  most  women, 
she  held  the  love  of  a  man  to  be  a  light  matter, 
never  vital,  and  rather  enjoyed  seeing  masculine 
struggles  upon  the  baited  hook,  just  as  a  trout- 
fisher  becomes  interested  in  the  beautiful  creature 
that  spins  and  splashes  at  the  end  of  his  compan 
ion's  line. 

But  now,  when  Polly  saw  that  Clary's  troubles 
were  growing  heavier  and  more  unendurable  day 
by  day,  the  courageous  and  sensible  woman  bor 
rowed  a  tame  old  horse  and  rather  dilapidated 
sulky,  and  set  out  for  Litchfield  alone,  —  on  "  law 
business,"  she  said.  She  went  to  Guy  Morgan's 
office,  for  he  had  begun  to  practice  law,  and  laid 
the  case  before  him,  confiding  to  him  certain  steps 
she  had  already  taken. 

He  heard  her  with  ill-concealed  rage  and  grief ; 
but  as  the  interview  ended  he  said  :  — 

"  You  have  done  all  you  can,  Miss  Mariner ;  you 
will  not  have  to  wait  a  great  while,  I  think,  for  re 
sults.  But  meanwhile  you  must  promise  me  that  if 
any  new  development  happens  you  will  send  for  me 
at  once.  I  suppose  you  will  not  leave  Blisset  ?  " 

"  My  sakes !  I  guess  not.  I  would  n't  leave 
there  for  nothing  you  could  mention  !  She  don't 
mistrust  that  I  'in  her  friend,  Clary  don't.  I  've 
hed  to  fetch  this  trouble  on  to  her.  4  Faithful  are 
the  wownds  of  a  friend,'  Scripter  says,  but  it  don't 
say  but  what  they  hurt  jest  as  much  as  the  wownds 
of  an  inimy.  I  think  they  do  wuss,  becos  you  're 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  213 

kind  of  obleeged  to  keep  in  about  'em  ;  can't  spit 
out,  so  to  speak,  as  't  were." 

Mr.  Morgan  smiled,  and  Polly,  whipping  up  her 
old  horse,  drove  back  to  Blisset,  feeling  as  if  she 
had  some  strong  support  to  fall  back  on,  whatever 
occurred.  She  would  have  relied  on  Parson  Piper, 
but  that  worthy  man  lay  at  death's  door  with  typhus 
fever,  and  if  ever  he  recovered,  which  Dr.  Eoot 
doubted,  wagging  his  head  with  great  solemnity, 
he  would  be  months  in  getting  back  to  life  and 
strength  again  ;  and  Polly  judged  wisely  in  con 
cluding  that  she  should  need  some  one  having  au 
thority  in  any  contention  with  Alonzo  Jakeway. 

About  the  end  of  August,  when  it  seemed  to 
Clary  that  endurance  would  fail  and  life  with  it, 
Alonzo  appeared  to  be  relieved  from  some  pressure 
of  thought  and  doubt  that  had  long  kept  him  medi 
tative  and  gloomy.  A  dull  fire  lit  his  gray  eyes 
with  a  sort  of  evil  satisfaction  ;  and  though  his 
mother,  with  feminine  persistence,  kept  up  her  nag 
ging  and  reviling  of  poor  Clary,  and  made  her  life 
a  burden,  he  let  the  poor  girl  alone  for  awhile,  nei 
ther  threatening  nor  coaxing  her.  Polly  watched 
the  whole  thing  steadily.  She  distrusted  Alonzo 
none  the  less  for  his  present  forbearance.  She 
would  gladly  have  extended  comfort  to  Clary,  but 
the  girl  avoided  her  carefully,  and  seemed  to  shrink 
from  her  very  sight ;  so  the  good  woman  bided  her 
time,  not  without  wonder  at  the  long  delay  of  her 
measures  for  Clary's  help,  but  with  no  fears  as  to 
their  ultimate  result. 


214  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

It  was  now  the  second  week  in  September,  when 
one  morning  Alonzo  Jakeway  came  downstairs  and 
asked  his  mother  where  she  had  put  his  scarlet 
stockings  with  gold  clocks.  These  stockings  were 
the  pride  of  his  heart,  for  he  had  a  weakness  for 
finery,  and  these  scarlet  hose  of  heavy  silk,  gold- 
embroidered,  he  had  brought  with  him  from  abroad, 
and  they  figured  at  every  feast  Blisset  knew  in 
gorgeous  contrast  with  a  pair  of  black  velvet 
breeches,  a  red  satin  vest,  also  gold-embroidered, 
and  a  coat  of  fine  French  cloth  with  silver  buttons. 

There  was  to  be  a  wedding  to-night  in  Goshen, 
and  Alonzo's  dress  must  be  in  readiness.  Clary 
had  ironed  one  of  his  new  shirts,  clear-starched  the 
frill,  and  done  up  his  laced  cravat  to  a  nicety,  lin 
gering  over  the  task  as  if  it  were  a  pleasure,  as  in 
deed  it  still  was  her  delight  to  do  any  service  for 
the  man  she  loved.  But  this  morning  he  could  not 
find  the  stockings,  and  great  was  his  wrath  ;  he 
stormed  and  swore,  and  his  mother  hunted  over  all 
his  possessions  and  her  own  too,  but  in  vain.  At 
length,  with  a  face  of  dark  menace,  Alonzo  left 
the  house,  and  returned  in  two  hours  with  the  vil 
lage  constable  and  a  search-warrant  from  the  near 
est  justice  of  the  peace,  who  lived  in  Noppit.  On 
the  authority  of  this,  every  room  in  the  house  was 
examined,  —  the  hostler's  hair  trunk,  the  bags  of -a 
miller  stopping  over  night  on  business,  the  chest  of 
drawers  in  the  schoolteacher's  room,  who  had  just 
come  there  to  board,  and  last  of  all  Clary's  little 
blue  chest,  where  her  small  store  of  clothes  lay  in 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  215 

due  order,  with  sprigs  of  cedar  and  sweet  basil 
strewn  amongst  them! 

There,  in  the  folds  of  her  best  sprigged  cotton 
gown,  her  only  Sunday  gown,  lay  the  red  stock 
ings  ! 

Clary  was  horror-struck.  Her  dry  lips  could 
not  part  to  speak ;  her  knees  refused  to  support 
her ;  she  sunk  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  all  the 
spectators  cried  out  upon  her  guilty  face. 

So  does  man  judge  !  The  very  agony  of  insulted 
innocence  is  accepted  as  the  aspect  of  guilt. 
Shame  and  horror  hang  out  the  same  signals  with 
convicted  crime.  There  are  not  two  ways  for  the 
blood  to  leave  the  heart,  or  to  rush  back  to  it,  — 
one  way  of  sin  and  another  of  purity ;  and  Clary 
was  condemned  in  the  eyes  of  all  who  saw  her  by 
the  very  semblance  of  her  guiltlessness. 

But  nothing  availed  her  now;  not  her  solemn 
asseverations  of  innocence  when  speech  at  last  re 
turned. 

Law  and  justice  —  if  indeed  it  is  not  a  matter 
of  libel  to  mention  these  together  —  were  somewhat 
ignorantly  and  clumsily  administered  in  Blisset. 
A  sudden  trial  was  held  before  the  Noppit  justice. 
There  were  enough  to  swear  that  Clary  had  meant 
to  marry  Alonzo  Jakeway,  and  the  match  had  been 
broken  off  some  time  ;  doubtless  she  bore  him  a 
grudge,  accordingly,  and  stole  the  stockings  in  re 
venge. 

This  accusation  struck  poor  Clary  dumb.  She 
knew  such  pitiful  meanness  was  as  far  from  her 


216  CLARY'S   TRIAL. 

soul  as  earth  from  heaven  ;  but  she  could  see  that 
the  judge,  a  heavy,  plodding  old  farmer,  believed 
it ;  he  judged  her,  as  we  all  do  other  people,  from 
his  inward  self,  and  the  case  was  hopeless.  It  re 
mained  only  for  the  constable  to  swear  that  he 
found  the  said  red  silken  hose  in  her  chest,  hid  in 
her  Sunday  gown,  and  the  judge  was  outwardly  as 
well  as  inwardly  convinced.  He  pronounced  her 
guilty,  sentenced  her  to  pay  a  fine  of  one  hundred 
dollars,  or,  in  default  of  ability  to  pay  such  fine 
within  the  two  weeks  ensuing,  to  receive  thirty  lashes 
on  her  bare  back  at  the  whipping-post  on  Blisset 
green  ;  and  in  the  mean  time  to  be  conveyed  to  the 
lockup,  a  bare  little  room  with  grated  windows, 
above  the  store  and  post-office  of  the  village,  being- 
partitioned  off  from  the  public  hall,  which  occupied 
the  second  story  of  the  store,  and  reached  from  the 
outside  by  an  open  stairway. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Clary  Kent  fainted 
when  she  heard  this  sentence.  Worn  out  with 
long  suffering,  constant  labor,  and  the  intense  heat 
of  the  past  summer,  the  flesh  could  not  endure  one 
more  buffet  from  the  spirit,  and  in  a  state  of  mer 
ciful  senselessness  she  was  carried  back  to  Blisset, 
taken  up  the  outer  stair,  and  left  to  recover  as 
she  might  on  the  rough  sacking  cot  provided  for 
the  rare  occupants  of  the  strong  room. 

When  she  came  to  herself  she  longed  to  faint 
again,  for  the  whole  force  of  the  situation  rushed 
upon  her  like  a  flood,  and  the  judge's  sentence  was 
burnt  in  upon  her  brain  as  with  hot  irons.  A 


CLARY'S  TEIAL.  •  217 

hundred  dollar  fine  !  and  she  had  not  a  hundred 
cents.  Another  girl  in  her  place  might  have  gath 
ered  some  small  store  from  the  generosity  of  the 
tavern  guests,  but  Clary  so  disliked  notice,  was  so 
sure  to  slip  out  quietly  when  her  service  was  ended, 
that  those  who  wished  to  give  her  money  got  no 
opportunity  to  do  so,  and  those  who  would  have 
given  it  from  habit  were  glad  of  the  chance  to 
escape  the  tax.  Guy  Morgan  would  as  soon  have 
offered  gold  to  the  haughtiest  woman  in  Boston 
as  to  Clary.  Yet  even  if  all  these  had  bestowed 
gratuities  upon  her,  she  would  have  been  nowhere 
near  possessing  a  hundred  dollars ;  it  was  as  un 
attainable  to  her  as  the  wealth  of  Croasus. 

And  the  alternative  ! 

She  had  once  accidentally  passed  the  whipping 
post  when  a  man  had  paid  the  old-time  penalty  of 
stealing.  An  awful  fascination  chained  the  child, 
then  only  thirteen  years  old,  to  the  spot ;  but  she 
had  never  forgotten  the  barbaric  spectacle.  She 
could  see  still  the  thongs  that  lashed  him  to  the 
post,  the  bare,  glistening  back,  the  descending  lash, 
the  purple  welt  that  followed  ;  she  could  recall  with 
the  distinctness  of  absolute  vision  the  quiver  of 
that  sturdy  figure,  the  groans  he  vainly  tried  to  re 
press,  the  brutal  jeers  of  the  crowd,  and  the  red 
blood  that  spattered  on  to  the  snow  under  the  vic 
tim's  feet.  And  all  this  lay  before  her !  All  ?  A 
thousandfold  more,  for  she  was  a  woman,  and  the 
lash  was  no  more  dreadful  in  her  eyes  than  the 
exposure  of  her  sacred  person,  the  violence  done  to 


218  «  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

her  virgin  modesty.  She  did  not  once  think  of 
hope.  Her  nature  had  been  so  long  crushed  into 
earth  by  misfortune  and  suffering  that  her  first 
impulse  was  to  despair.  She  fell  off  the  cot  on  to 
her  knees,  and,  prostrate  on  the  floor,  prayed  with 
the  whole  force  of  a  desperate  soul  that  God  would 
let  her  die  before  the  day  of  her  trial  came. 

From  this  absorption  she  was  roused  by  the  trem 
bling  voice  of  Polly  Mariner,  who  had  climbed  the 
stair  and  was  calling  her  through  the  grated  door. 
Clary  rose,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  shudder. 

"  Keep  up  your  heart,  child  !  —  keep  up !  "  sobbed 
Polly,  crying  as  much  with  rage  as  with  sorrow,  for 
she  had  only  just  heard  the  story,  and  referred  the 
whole  thing  to  its  right  source  directly.  "  You  '11 
be  took  care  of ;  there  's  them  will  see  to  't.  Look 
here  ;  I  've  fetched  ye  a  blanket  an'  a  big  sheet. 
It 's  warm  weather,  but  September  sunshine  ain't 
reliable ;  mabbe  you  '11  want  bedclothes.  And  I  've 
spoke  to  the  constable,  an'  he  's  goin'  to  fetch  ye  a 
piller  and  suthin'  to  eat.  You  won't  be  here  long, 
noways.  I  'm  a-goin'  over  to  Litchfield,  post-haste, 
to  fetch  help.  Keep  up  your  sperits." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Polly,"  sighed  the  girl,  inspired  with 
hope  by  the  cheery  voice  and  assurance,  "  can  any 
body  help  me  ?  " 

"  Land,  yes !  Anybody  can  pay  your  fine,  can't 
they?  I  could  myself,  ef  I  had  the  dollars.  I 
hain't  got  'em,  but  I  '11  get  'em." 

A  thrill  of  stronger  hope  awoke  in  the  girl's  heart. 

"  Oh,  then  I  know  Lou  will  pay  it !     He  will ! 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  219 

he  will!  Oh,  I  ain't  a  bit  afraid,  Miss  Polly; 
he  '11  get  me  out."  f 

"  He  !  "  ejaculated  Polly,  with  a  scorn  type  is 
powerless  to  express.  "  He  help  you  !  Why,  if 
you  war  n't  in  trouble,  I  should  say  you  was  the 
biggest  fool  in  Blisset.  Why,  if  you  knowed  beans, 
you  'd  know  he  was  to  the  bottom  of  all  on 't. 
Do  you  expect  them  stockin's  walked  into  your 
chist  an'  crawled  inside  o'  your  gown  of  them 
selves?" 

Clary's  eyes  grew  dark  with  horror  ;  it  was  true, 
somebody  must  have  put  them  there. 

"  May  be  't  was  her,"  she  said  tremulously ; 
meaning,  as  Polly  well  knew,  Goody  Jakewuy. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  she  's  ugly  enough,  but  she  ain't 
'cute  enough.  Besides,  she  don't  want  to  lose  ye  ; 
she  's  buzzin'  round  now  like  a  bee  in  a  tar  barrel 
to  get  somebody  to  help  her,  but  there  won't  none 
o'  the  decent  gals  in  Blisset  go  where  Lon  Jake- 
way  is." 

Clary  did  not  notice  this  small  Scoff  which  Polly 
really  could  not  help  giving ;  she  only  went  on  :  — 

"  I  know  Lorizo  will  pay  for  me.  Why,  Polly, 
he  —  he  likes  me  !  "  and  here  a  warm  blush  suffused 
her  beautiful  face.  "  He  —  well,  I  never  told  any 
body  before,  but  he  wants  to  marry  me  just  the  same. 
He  says  that  woman  's  dead,  and  I  only  waited  to  be 
sure  ;  he  's  promised  to  find  out.  Do  yon  think  he  'd 
let  me  be  whipped  ?  "  Her  piteous  voice  changed 
to  a  ring  of  scornful  triumph  as  she  asked  the 
question,  but  Polly  responded  promptly  :  — 


220  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  but  there  's  them  that  won't.     I  '11 

fix  it.      Land !    there  's    three-o'clock  bell  over  to 

% 

Noppit ;  lecter  preparatory,  but  I  ain't  goin'.  I 
must  hurry  up.  Good-by,  child  ;  I  '11  be  here  airly 
in  the  mornin'.  Keep  up  your  sperits  !  " 

But  "  spirits  "  will  not  come  at  call,  and  Clary 
sank  into  despondence  as  soon  as  Polly's  face  dis 
appeared.  She  was  roused  again  by  the  constable, 
who  fetched  her  some  supper  and  a  pillow,  and 
when  dusk  fell,  worn  out  by  emotion,  she  laid  her 
weary  limbs  along  the  cot,  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

It  was  at  the  dead  of  night  that  she  awoke, 
hearing  her  name  again  ;  this  time  it  was  Alonzo 
Jakeway ;  her  heart  bounded  as  she  recognized  his 
voice.  But  it  sank  to  deeper  depths  when  he  made 
known  the  object  of  his  visit:  it  was  to  tell  her 
that  if  she  would  marry  him  at  once  he  would  pay 
the  fine  and  set  her  free.  Here  was  a  trial  fit  for 
a  martyr  of  old  time ;  she  had  but  to  do  that  which 
her  heart  had  all  along  prompted,  and  she  was  saved. 
But  there  was  one  question  first  to  ask  :  — 

"  You  know  I  did  n't  steal  them,  Lon  ?  " 

"  I  do'  know  who  knows  it  better,"  was  the  surly 
reply.  "  Look  here,  Clary  Kent,  I  've  got  ye  now, 
tight  and  sure.  I  've  planned  and  plotted  on 't 
along  back,  so  's  it  should  be  tight  and  sure.  I 
put  them  stockin's  there,  for  I  meant  to  get  a  grip 
on  ye.  Now  take  your  choice,  —  to  be  stripped 
and  whipped,  or  marry  me.  If  you  're  a  halfway 
decent  gal,  you  won't  demur  much." 

Clary  sprang  back  from  the  grating,  all  her  blood 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  221 

on  fire  with  the  dastardly  insult.  She  seemed  to 
grow  tall  and  strong  ;  her  voice,  softer  than  any 
cooing  flute,  took  on  the  ring  of  a  clarion. 

"  Go  away  !  "  she  said.  "  I  had  rather  die  than 
marry  you  now,  Lonzo  Jake  way  !  " 

"  Wait  a  bit !  "  he  sneered.  "  I  guess  a  fortnight 
'11  change  your  mind  ;  bread  an'  water  an'  locked 
doors  is  pretty  convincing "  and  with  an  evil  laugh 
he  turned  away  and  stole  softly  down  the  stairs. 

Poor  Clary  !  this  was  her  bitterest  hour.  The 
bandage  was  torn  from  her  eyes,  and  she  saw  the 
man  —  no  !  not  the  man  she  loved,  but  the  real 
man,  who  had  borne  about  as  a  garment  the  image 
and  superscription  of  her  God.  Death  would  not 
have  been  as  hard.  In  the  agony  of  bereavement 
and  disgust  she  tossed  on  her  pallet  till  daybreak, 
and  then  she  heard  a  heavy  footstep  toil  up  the 
stairs  ;  it  was  Polly  Mariner.  She  said,  trying  to 
smile,  — 

"  Well,  dear,  I  can't  fetch  it  about  to-day.  The 
feller  that 's  got  the  money  he  's  took  an'  gone  off 
to  Boston  of  an  arrand,  but  he  '11  come  back,  —  yes, 
he  will ;  he  's  a-comin'  shortly,  and  I  've  left  a  billet 
for  him.  You  '11  hev  to  stay  here  a  spell,  mabbe, 
but  it  '11  all  come  right." 

Clary  looked  at  her  with  dull  eyes.  "  There 
won't  ever  anything  come  right  any  more,"  she 
said  stupidly ;  and  this  was  the  fixed  belief  of  her 
soul. 

In  vain  Polly  brought  her  food  of  the  nicest  she 
could  prepare,  decent  clothing,  a  Bible,  a  hymn- 


222  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

book,  Boston's  "  Fourfold  State,"  and  Jenks's  "De 
votion,"  her  whole  store  of  literary  amusement ;  or 
thrust  through  her  grating  early  apples  and  late 
peaches,  or  musky  bunches  of  wild  grapes  ;  she 
could  not  coax  a  smile  over  the  beautiful  wan  face, 
or  instill  a  spark  of  hope  into  the  breaking  heart. 

She  had  told  Clary  the  truth,  as  far  as  it  went. 
She  found  Guy  Morgan  had  gone  to  Boston,  and 
she  left  a  letter  to  be  given  him  as  soon  as  he  re 
turned  ;  but  for  security  the  black  boy  who  waited 
on  the  office  slipped  the  queer,  ragged  note  into  a 
legal  volume,  and  then  forgot  all  about  it.  Polly's 
errand  had  been  vainer  than  she  knew, 

So  the  days  wore  on  :  Clary  still  in  the  dull  des 
olation  that  possessed  her,  and  Polly  fuming  to  her 
self  at  Guy's  delay.  She  would  have  made  another 
journey  to  Litchfield,  but  she  dare  not  leave  Clary 
alone  ;  some  vague  fear  was  always  present  with  her 
when  she  saw  or  recalled  the  girl's  set  face ;  so  she 
waited  as  well  as  she  could,  not  for  Guy  alone,  but 
for  the  result  of  measures  she  had  taken  long  before 
to  deliver  Clary  from  Alonzo's  net.  More  than  once 
or  twice  in  the  dead  of  night  the  desperate  man 
visited  Clary  again,  and  poured  threats  and  per 
suasions  through  the  grating,  but  never  did  he  re 
ceive  any  answer  of  word  or  look.  Still  he  clung 
to  the  belief  that  at  the  last  moment  he  should  con 
quer,  and  went  away  in  that  conviction  ;  for  he 
could  no  more  understand  her  pure  and  lofty  nature 
than  a  worm  of  earth  can  interpret  the  seraphs  of 
heaven. 


CLABY'S  TRIAL.  223 

At  last  the  end  of  these  weary  hours  drew  near. 
Miss  Polly,  grown  desperate,  dispatched  Pete  Steb- 
bins  by  sunrise  to  Litchfield  with  a  strenuous  mes 
sage  to  Guy  Morgan.  But  the  day  crept  on,  and 
he  did  not  come,  for  the  axle  of  Pete's  old  wagon 
gave  out  halfway  there,  and  he  had  first  to  clear 
the  road  of  the  obstruction,  and  then'  walk  the  re 
maining  five  miles  ;  happily  for  Polly,  she  knew 
nothing  of  this  delay.  It  was  the  first  day  of  Oc 
tober,  and  the  languid  splendor  of  early  autumn 
brooded  in  soft  glory  over  the  low  hills  about  Blis- 
set ;  the  woods  were  lit  here  and  there  by  a  scarlet 
bough,  and  one  great  maple  like  a  torch  of  fire 
flamed  on  the  little  green  ;  nothing  stirred,  but  the 
sad  chirping  of  the  crickets  rose  sharp  and  griev 
ous  as  a  dirge  from  the  damp  g.rass,  and  now  and 
then  a  wailing  south  wind  shed  a  bright  leaf  softly 
to  the  ground.  A  ring  of  curious  people  crowded 
already  about  the  whipping-post,  and  close  by  it 
stood  Alonzo  Jakeway,  waiting  for  his  victim's 
appearance. 

Just  at  ten  o'clock  the  constable  came  down  the 
stairs  of  the  strong  room,  leading  Clary ;  her  white 
feet  were  bare  below  her  short  stuff  petticoat,  re 
vealing  their  exquisite  shape  and  dimpled  beauty, 
and  over  her  shoulders  a  dark  blue  blanket  was 
loosely  thrown. 

In  her  cell  she  had  only  the  simplest  necessities 
of  toilet,  so  she  had  knotted  the  rich  masses  of  her 
hair  loosely  on  the  top  of  her  head,  tucking  in  the 
ends  to  keep  it  in  place  as  well  as  she  could.  Her 


224  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

beautiful,  despairing  face  was  like  moulded  alabas 
ter,  so  pure,  so  pallidly  transparent,  and  her  great 
brown  eyes  were  filled  with  unutterable  woe.  She 
was  brought  forward,  and  her  hands  passed  around 
the  post  and  lashed  there.  Alonzo  Jakeway  went 
up  to  her  and  whispered  a  word.  She  looked  at 
him  as  one  who  saw  him  not ;  but  when  the  consta 
ble,  with  sudden  roughness,  tore  the  blanket  from 
her  back,  and  the  sculptural  shoulders  and  ivory 
neck  were  bared  to  sight,  over  every  glistening  sur 
face  and  perfect  outline  a  scarlet  flush  swept  like 
the  reflection  of  sudden  flame,  and  in  the  agony 
of  outraged  womanhood  an  appeal  burst  from  her 
parted  lips :  — 

"  O  Lon  !  Lon  !  save  me  !  " 

But  like  a  tiger  gloating  over  his  prey,  the  man, 
who  was  less  man  than  brute,  stood  moveless.  A 
fierce  and  bestial  joy  filled  his  soul ;  he  saw  this 
proud  girl  humbled  to  the  ground,  and  was  greedily 
glad  ;  his  hunger  of  wrath  and  revenge  tasted  blood, 
and  as  his  red  and  eager  eyes  met  hers  with  a  look  of 
scorn,  the  uplifted  lash  descended  along  those  snowy 
shoulders,  and  a  piercing,  horrid  shriek  rent  the 
air  as  a  long  purple  welt  marked  the  smooth  and 
polished  skin.  But  hardly  was  the  constable's  arm 
raised  again  when  something  burst  madly  through 
the  crowd  ;  the  whip  was  torn  from  his  hands ;  the 
thongs  that  bound  her  cut  apart ;  and  as  if  the  lash 
had  stung  her  to  life,  Clary's  first  instinctive  motion 
was  to  lift  her  hand,  and  loosening  her  heavy  hair 
drop  its  dusk  veil  over  her  shoulders.  She  did  not 


CLARY'S  TRIAL.  225 

see  how  like  a  flash  Alonzo  Jake  way  was  sent  flat 
to  the  ground,  nor  yet  that  the  interposer  in  her 
behalf  was  Guy  Morgan,  whose  black  horse  stood 
now  foaming  and  panting,  while  his  master  counted 
out  the  fine  to  the  indignant  constable.  Polly 
Mariner,  sobbing  and  chattering,  got  a  big  camlet 
cloak  about  poor  Clary,  and  led  her  away  to  her  own 
house. 

And  now  into  this  homely  drama,  in  the  com 
monplace  chariot  of  a  creaking  chaise,  entered 
another  actor,  who  should  have  been  here  long  be 
fore  if  winds  and  waves  had  not  delayed  Polly 
Mariner's  letter  to  Liverpool.  When  Alonzo  Jake- 
way  recovered  from  the  thorough  thrashing  which 
Guy  Morgan  proceeded  to  give  him  with  the  same 
lash  that  had  seared  Clary's  shoulders,  his  eyes 
opened  on  the  living  face  of  Mary  Harris,  his  wife, 
to  whom  Polly  Mariner  had  written,  sending  all  her 
little  savings  that  she  might  come  to  Blisset  and 
prove  her  rights. 

It  was  in  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  that  she 
should  never  after  forgive  Polly  for  this  interven 
tion,  for  on  her  head,  with  the  cowardice  and  bru 
tality  of  his  nature,  Alonzo  visited  his  anger  and 
unsated  cruelty  ;  and  no  one  who  knew  him  ex 
pected  any  better  result.  But  she  had  saved  Clary 
from  the  like  fate,  Polly  thought,  and  that  was 
enough  for  her ;  for  to  no  human  being  did  the 
poor  girl  ever  reveal  her  midnight  interviews  and 
her  murdered  affection.  Clary  lay  long  at  Polly 
Mariner's  house  ill  of  a  dreadful  fever,  and  when 


226  CLARY'S  TRIAL. 

at  last  she  recovered,  Heaven  visited  her,  in  mercy, 
with  utter  oblivion  of  the  past ;  she  was  even  more 
intelligent  and  lovely  than  ever,  but  her  memory 
was  a  blank.  Under  Polly's  care  she  was  taken  to 
Boston,  and  put  in  charge  of  an  old  lady,  one  of 
Guy's  friends,  who  was  rich  and  lonely,  and  ro 
mantic  enough  even  in  her  age  to  sympathize  with 
young  love.  Here  the  poor  girl  found  shelter,  pro 
tection,  and  affection  in  her  new  world  of  con 
sciousness  ;  and  here  she  received  for  a  few  years 
the  training  and  education  of  a  lady. 

It  was  nothing  to  her  that  Alonzo  Jakeway  be 
came  a  hopeless  drunkard  and  died  like  his  father 
before  him,  or  that  Polly  Mariner,  her  truest 
friend,  fell  a  victim  to  that  typhus  fever  which  de 
cimates  some  New  England  towns  at  uncertain  in 
tervals. 

Clary  had  no  past ;  and  if  ever  her  awakening 
intelligence  questioned  it,  she  was  always  answered 
that  she  was  an  orphan,  and  Mrs.  Grey  had  taken 
her  when  she  was  very  ill.  In  time  Guy  Morgan 
visited  her,  and  renewed  the  attentions  she  did  not 
remember  ;  and  now  she  received  them  with  shy 
sweetness,  for  she  loved  him  as  fervently  as  she 
had  loved  Alonzo.  After  their  marriage  they  went 
to  live  in  a  flourishing  Western  city,  and  Clary  was 
for  a  lifetime  the  pride  and  delight  of  his  home 
and  heart,  transmitting  her  beauty  as  a  heritage  to 
children  and  grandchildren,  who  are  to  this  day  as 
ignorant  as  she  mercifully  remained  till  the  hour  of 
her  death  of  Clary's  Trial. 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

"  GiKLS  don't  know  anything  anyhow  !  " 

Sally  laughed,  though  the  tears  stood  in  her 
bright  eyes,  as  grandma  Jopp  snapped  out  her 
formula  of  contempt ;  but  the  old  lady  neither 
minded  the  gentle  laugh  nor  the  shining  tears ;  she 
had  "  found  liberty,"  and  her  voluble  tongue  took 
up  the  role  again. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  're  a-comin'  to,  Sally ; 
you  're  only  a  girl ;  you  think  gittin'  married  is  all 
honey  and  posies,  but  I  'm  an  old  woman,  seventy 
year  old,  married  fifty  year  ago,  and  I  know  suthin'. 
Land !  how  yer  granther  used  ter  dance  round  me 
when  I  was  a  gal !  There  want  nothin'  too  good 
for  me  them  times,  nothin'  too  slick  for  him  to  say. 
I  was  a  beauty,  and  a  poppet,  and  sweetheart,  and 
dear  knows  what  all.  It 's  mawkish  to  think  on  't 
now.  I  don't  say  but  what  I  was  as  big  a  fool  as 
you  be.  I  did  set  by  him  a  heap,  but  land's  sakes ! 
't  was  over  with  quicker  'n  nothin',  after  we  'd  ben 
married  a  spell,  an'  settled  down  to  stiddy  grind. 

"  There  wa'n't  a  lot  o'  honey  and  posies  in  get- 
tin'  a  biled  dinner,  doing  hay-makers'  washin',  bilin' 
soap,  an'  pig-killin'  time.  I  tell  ye  its  work,  work, 
work,  for  poor  folks  ;  and  if  you  know  what 's  good 
for  ye,  you  '11  take  up  with  Squire  Simmons,  'nd 
let  Joe  Hazard  go  to  —  sea." 


228  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

"  I  hate  Squire  Simmons,"  ejaculated  Sally, 
drawing  up  her  slender  figure  to  its  height,  and 
coloring  with  indignation.  "  I  'd  ruther  be  an  old 
maid  ten  times  over  than  marry  him." 

"  Well,  there  's  wuss  things  than  bein'  an  old 
maid  :  ef  you  're  capable,  and  pleasant,  and  smart, 
you  'd  jest  as  good  be  an  old  maid  as  be  a  poor 
man's  wife." 

"  Depends  on  who  the  poor  man  is,"  put  in  Sally 
demurely.  * 

"  Well,  you  know  the  old  sayin',  Sally,  '  When 
poverty  comes  into  the  door,  love  flies  out  o'  the 
winder.'  ' 

"  That  's  because  people  open  the  windows," 
laughed  Sally. 

"  Oh,  go  'long !  you  're  a  master  hand  to  jump 
the  fence,  but  some  clay  you  '11  rek'lect  what  I  tell 
ye,  and  wish  you  'd  counciled  with  grandmother 
Jopp." 

"  Well,  grandma,  if  I  do,  I  '11  tell  you  so." 

"  Shaw  !  you  won't  hev  me  to  tell.  I  shall  be  in 
my  grave  long  afore  you  get  to  that  p'int,  Sally." 

44 1  never  knew  anybody  die  yet  that  was  always 
expectin'  to,  grandma.  I  'in  quite  certin  you  will 
live  at  least  ten  years  after  I  'm  married." 

"  Then  you  be  a-goin'  to  marry  Joe  Hazard  ? " 
eagerly  retorted  the  old  woman. 

Sally  sat  down  in  the  chair  by  which  she  was 
standing,  and  laughed  till  the  tears  rose  in  her  eyes, 
for  just  as  grandma  Jopp  faced  round  upon  her 
with  this  question,  neatly  dodging  the  matter  of 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  229 

her  own  living  or  dying,  Sally  saw  Joe  Hazard's 
curly  black  head  and  laughing  eyes  thrust  through 
the  morning-glories  before  the  further  window. 

"  Yes,  marm,  I  reckon  she  is,"  shouted  the  un 
daunted  Joe,  and  grandma  whirled  round  again  to 
confront  this  unexpected  visitor. 

"  Well,  if  you  hain't  got  the  most  brass,"  was 
her  breathless  remark,  as  she  glared  at  him  over 
her  spectacles. 

"  Good  sea-goin'  metal,  ain't  it  ?  "  inquired  he 
with  comic  gravity. 

"  You  've  got  enough  on  't  to  sink  a  ship.  I 
advise  ye  to  take  to  dry  land,"  snapped  grandma. 

Joe  began  to  sing  under  his  breath  "  Cease,  rude 
Boreas,"  which  sent  Sally  into  fresh  fits  of  laugh 
ter,  and  running  out  of  the  farmhouse,  she  cap 
tured  the  offending  party,  and  they  both  sat  down 
on  the  south  doorsteps  to  hold  sweet  converse  to 
gether,  for  Sally  was  not  in  the  least  frightened  by 
her  grandmother's  grim  experience  and  advice. 
She  was  filled  with  diviner  lessons ;  dreams  of 
youth  and  love  that  laugh  at  experience,  and  be 
lieve  their  world  is  the  world,  and  their  life  the  life 
of  all  humanity,  that  grief  is  the  exception,  and 
happiness  the  rule  ;  that  "  now  "  is  eternal,  and  love 
immortal. 

Sweet  souls !  it  is  "  a  trailing  cloud  of  glory  " 
from  their  last  home,  and  it  is  to  life  what  the 
flower  is  to  the  fruit,  the  calyx  to  the  flower,  the 
shoot  to  the  calyx,  the  seed  to  the  shoot.  But  for 
its  shelter,  its  folding  warmth,  its  strong  hope  and 


230  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

faith,  the  buds,  yea,  the  very  germs  of  life  would 
faint,  wither,  die,  and  we  should  reap  no  harvest, 
be  gathered  into  no  heavenly  garners  hereafter. 

Grandmother  Jopp  was  an  ordinarily  pleasant 
and  sensible  old  lady,  but,  like  most  of  her  type, 
she  thought  as  people  said  of  her,  that  "  There 
ain't  much  she  don't  know,  an'  what  she  don't 
know  ain't  worth  knowin'." 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  a  more  affectionate 
nature,  a  gentler  spirit,  less  selfishness  and  impa 
tience  on  her  own  part,  would  have  made  married 
life  easier  and  sweeter  both  for  her  and  her  hus 
band  ;  but  grandpa  Jopp  was  a  silent,  slow,  weakly 
sort  of  man,  and  while  his  wife  scolded  and  found 
fault  with  him,  he  only  looked  wretched  and  kept 
out  of  her  way  as  much  as  he  could ;  so  naturally 
enough,  she  thought  herself  in  the  right.  He  did 
it  "  for  peace's  sake,"  poor  cowardly  soul !  una 
ware  that  in  the  wars  of  matrimony,  as  in  the  wars 
of  nations,  it  is  necessary  to  conquer  a  peace.  A 
good  sound  rating,  or  even  a  sturdy  shake,  would 
have  restored  the  balance  of  power,-  and  given 
him  his  right  position;  but  he  dared  not  assert 
himself  so,  and  went  on  into  his  grave,  the  de 
spised  servant  of  a  wife  who  ought  to  have  loved 
and  respected  him,  and  been  a  comfort  instead  of  a 
curse. 

Joe  Hazard  was  not  of  this  sort,  nor  was  Sally 
Hart  fashioned  after  her  maternal  grandmother's 
type ;  her  dark  red  hair,  her  soft,  deep  hazel  eyes, 
her  merry,  cheery  nature,  and  tender,  faithful  soul, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  231 

all  came  from  the  Hart  side  of  the  family,  and 
promised  a  safe  harbor  for  even  a  sailor's  roving 
heart.  Sally  had  been  "  down  to  salt  "  at  Matoo- 
noc  beach  three  years  in  succession  with  aunt 
Lyddy,  grandma  Jopp's  eldest  daughter,  a  widow 
with  some  property  and  a  great  deal  of  asthma,  for 
the  relief  of  which  she  visited  the  shore  every  year, 
taking  Sally  with  her  for  company,  since  she  was 
the  only  niece  the  childless  woman  had.  They 
boarded  in  one  of  the  gray,  weather-beaten  houses 
that  dot  the  meadows  along  the  Ehode  Island 
shore,  —  houses  so  dim  and  misty  in  their  tempest- 
worn  hue  that  they  seem  like  feeble  mezzotints 
faintly  outlined  against  the  sparkling,  heaving  sea 
before,  or  the  verdant  stretch  of  grassy  fields  be 
hind  them. 

But  the  inhabitants  were  kindly,  and  board  was 
cheap ;  fish,  chickens,  eggs,  were  plenty ;  vegeta 
bles  grew  for  the  planting  ;  the  great  Narragansett 
swamp  afforded  blueberries  in  abundance,  and  the 
hills  were  set  thick  with  huckleberry  bushes,  and 
trailed  over  by  bounteous  dewberry  vines.  It  was 
a  simple,  quiet,  homely  place.  Aunt  Lyddy's  hus 
band  had  a  sister  living  three  miles  back  from  the 
shore,  and  she  had  found  them  a  boarding-place 
with  Sam  Tucker,  whose  wife  was  glad  enough  to 
get  a  little  money  for  her  own  and  her  children's 
adornment. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  Sally  at  first,  this  quiet 
farmhouse  and  this  lonely  shore.  She  spent  her 
days  out  of  doors  entirely,  though  with  the  thrifty 


232  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

instinct  of  New  England,  she  carried  her  knitting 
or  her  tatting  along  ;  but  these  were  soon  disposed 
of  in  her  pocket,  and  while  her  aunt  sat  on  the 
fish-house  steps,  or  made  herself  at  home  in  the 
hot  sun  and  the  sand,  glad  enough  of  a  free  breath, 
and  resting  her  tired  lungs,  Sally  scoured  the  beach 
far  and  near:  gathered  stones  to  fill  her  basket; 
fished  up  seaweed  from  the  whispering  fringes  of 
foam;  gathered  "  money  -  purses  "  and  "salt  cel 
lars  "  by  the  dozen  ;  wondered  under  which  gray 
old  boulder,  planted  deep  mid  sand  and  sea,  Cap 
tain  Kidd's  hoard  lay  sleeping  ;  or,  tired  of  roam 
ing,  came  back  and  sat  beside  aunt  Lyddy,  and 
watched  the  long  green  rollers  come  roaring  up  the 
sand,  rearing  their  tossing,  shining  manes  high  in 
air,  white  and  light  with  myriad  foam-bells,  only 
to  dash  them  on  the  shivering  shore,  with  the  soft 
rush  and  crush  of  breaking  bubbles  and  sliding 
seas,  that  recoiled  for  fresh  assault,  and  returned 
with  new  splendors  of  beryl  depths  and  fleecy  crests, 
to  roar  and  fall  again.  Splendid  vision  !  which  a 
worn  and  weary  heart  could  watch  forever,  losing 
in  this  vast,  dumb  force  and  glory  its  own  sense  of 
present  anguish  or  despair,  and  feeling  in  every 
fibre  the  sad  sweetness  of  that  mighty  soul  that 
fled  from  its  temple  in  such  a  sea,  but  breathed  out 
first  in  human  words  such  human  longing  — 

"  I  could  lie  down  like  a  tired  child, 
And  breathe  away  this  life  of  care 
Which  I  have  borne,  and  still  must  bear, 
Till  death-like  sleep  should  steal  on  me, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  233 

And  I  should  feel  in  the  warm  air 

My  cheek  grow  cold,  and  hear  the  sea 

Breathe  o'er  my  dying  brain  its  last  monotony." 

But  Sally  was  young  and  a  girl !  She  craved 
life  and  variety,  and  she  was  getting  woefully 
tired  of  the  dull  days  before  half  her  last  sum 
mer  at  Matoonoc  had  gone,  when,  luckily  for  her, 
the  Nancy  Beers  sailed  into  Boston  Bay  from  a 
China  voyage,  and  her  second  mate,  handsome  Joe 
Hazard,  came  home  to  see  his  "folks,"  and  saw 
Sally  Hart  too, 

There  was  wailing  and  weeping  among  the  beach 
girls  when  they  saw  Joe  devoting  himself,  day  after 
day,  to  this  up-country  creature. 

Were  n't  his  own  sort  good  enough  for  him  ? 
Evidently  Joe  thought  not.  Cynthia  Tucker,  and 
Demy  Hazard,  and  Bet  Hazard,  and  Red  Joe 
Tucker's  twins,  —  for  they  were  all  Tuckers  or 
Hazards  at  Matoonoc,  —  all  these  had  set  their  vari 
ous  caps  in  vain  at  Joe,  ever  since  he  was  a  man 
and  a  mate  on  the  Nancy  Beers,  instead  of  boy  or 
common  sailor ;  for  Joe  had  taken  to  the  sea  since 
he  was  big  enough  to  take  to  anything,  and  had 
worked  his  way  up  ;  but  now,  after  all  their  fasci 
nations  had  failed,  after  blue  eyes,  gray  eyes,  green 
eyes,  had  tried  their  darts  in  vain,  after  every  fem 
inine  charm  of  his  own  neighbors  and  friends  had 
proved  useless,  here  was  a  girl  from  up-country,  a 
white,  slim  thing,  had  but  to  look  at  him,  and  he 
was  captured. 

"  I  dono  what  he  sees  in  that  red-headed  thing," 


234  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

snapped  Demy  Hazard.  "  She  can't  no  more  row 
a  boat  than  she  can  stan'  on  her  head.  I  scar't 
her  to  death  most,  t'  other  day,  when  we  was  out  a 
bathin',  a-pullin'  on  her  out  into  a  breaker." 

"  She  ain't  no  more  into  her  'n  a  piece  o'  rag 
weed,"  chimed  in  one  of  the  Tucker  twins,  "  she 
can't  dig  a  clam.  I  fetched  her  round  to  the  salt 
pond  a  Saturday,  'n'  I  '11  be  drownded  ef  she  did 
n't  ketch  up  a  crab  to  look  at  it.  Did  n't  it  ketch 
her,  though  ?  I  tell  you  she  hollered  like  a  gale 
o'  wind." 

"  Well,  I  expect  Joe  '11  suit  himself ;  menfolks 
do,  mostly,"  sighed  Cynthia  Tucker,  who  was  occu 
pied  along  with  the  rest  in  the  pleasant  amusement 
of  clawing  reluctant  clams  from  their  sandy  bed, 
with  a  sort  of  tool  compromised  between  a  rake  and 
a  hoe. 

Demy  laughed,  but  Bet  Hazard,  who  was  the  old 
est  of  the  ^rowd,  and  in  virtue  of  her  sense,  her 
years,  and  her  experience,  something  sarcastic, 
growled  out  in  a  deep  voice  :  — 

"  I  expect  they  do !  I  dono  who  'd  undertake  to 
suit  'em.  I  'd  ruther  sail  a  pinky  round  Pint  Judy 
pint  in  a  sou'easter  then  pick  out  a  man's  gal  for 
him.  A  man  hed  oughter  git  leave  to  choose  his 
own  boat  'nd  his  own  wife,  I  say ;  an'  ef  he  don't 
git  it,  he  giner'lly  takes  it ;  'specially  ef  he  's  a 
Hazard." 

There  was  no  doubt  Joe  belonged  to  that  family. 
In  any  other,  his  inherited  name  of  Josiah  never 
would  have  been  shortened  into  Joe  ;  and  his  dark, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  235 

crisp  curls,  his  flashing  black  eyes,  his  clear  brown 
skin,  attested  convincingly  his  descent ;  for  the 
"  black  Hazards "  were  as  well  known  about  the 
shore  as  the  Black  Douglas  in  Scotland. 

As  for  Sally,  she  found  it  mighty  pleasant  to 
have  a  devoted  admirer  fall  at  her  feet  in  this  des 
ert  ;  she  was  used  to  it  at  home,  and  thought  little 
of  three  or  four  scalps  dangling  at  her  belt ;  but 
here  she  had  been  dull  for  a  long  time ;  the  swains 
of  Baxter  had  not  followed  her,  for  the  good  reason 
that  they  were  following  the  plough,  or  wielding  the 
hoe  just  at  present,  and  had  no  time  to  philander 
round  the  country  in  their  Sunday  clothes.  But 
here  was  a  handsome,  bright,  active  young  fellow, 
who  had  capitulated  at  once,  and  become  her  de 
voted  attendant.  Now  there  were  no  more  lonely 
walks  on  the  shore  ;  under  his  guidance  and  care 
she  walked  over  the  bare  gray  hills  to  gather  ber 
ries  ;  was  borne  in  a  little  rowboat  over  the  tran 
quil  bosom  of  the  salt  ponds,  and  taught  to  catch 
sprawling  crabs  with  a  scoop-net,  not  to  take  them 
in  her  fingers.  For  her  Joe  brought  luxuriant  clus 
ters  of  great  rhododendron  blossoms,  cool,  fair 
blooms  of  rose  and  white,  from  the  borders  of  the 
Great  Swamp ;  dripping  armfuls  of  ivory  water- 
lilies  fr.om  its  deeper  recesses  and  frequent  pools ; 
spires  of  too  fragrant  clethra ;  garlands  of  pale 
wild  roses  ;  quaint  garnet  blossoms  of  the  dwarf 
pitcher  plant ;  and  rare,  wild  coreopsis  flowers 
tinted  like  a  shell,  and  shyly  fragile  as  a  dryad 
might  be. 


236  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

Moreover,  he  persuaded  her  so  far  out  of  her 
terrors  of  the  sea  that  she  learned  to  enjoy  a  fish 
ing-party  in  a  whaleboat,  and  to  draw  in  a  big 
bluefish  as  deftly  as  Demy  Hazard  herself ;  he 
taught  her  to  padtlle  a  canoe  on  the  lonely,  fresh 
ponds  that  hid  their  crystal  depths  in  the  forests 
of  the  Swamp  ;  to  trace  those  paths  that  wound 
their  narrow  and  devious  way  from  one  of  these 
desert  jewels  to  the  other ;  and  even  (on  a  rainy 
day,  to  be  sure  !)  to  learn  the  whole  economy  of 
a  brig,  from  boom  to  jibber -jib,  for  the  Nancy 
Beers  was  a  brig,  and  Joe  understood  her  rigging 
if  anybody  did ! 

Poor  Joe,  he  longed  to  risk  his  fate  too  soon, 
and  would  have  done  so,  but  that  Sally,  with  the 
tact  of  a  woman,  avoided  and  averted  his  declara 
tion  till  he  almost  feared  to  speak,  and  then,  just 
as  he  was  getting  desperate  enough  to  throw  himself 
at  her  head  for  certainty's  sake,  he  was  called  away 
to  Boston  on  ship's  business  ;  and  though  he  hur 
ried  back,  aunt  Lyddy  and  Sally  had  gone  home 
before  he  reached  the  beach,  and  the  honest  fellow 
took  it  for  a  finality,  and  departed  on  the  long  voy 
age,  both  sad  and  sore. 

It  must  be  owned  that  the  youths  of  Baxter  did 
not  compare  well  in  Sally's  eyes  with  handsome 
Joe,  though  she  found  their  devotion  unabated ; 
and  it  must  also  come  to  light  that  her  eyes  glis 
tened  and  her  heart  beat  suspiciously  over  a  pack 
age  that  arrived  for  her  by  express  from  Boston, 
containing  a  delicate  China  crape  handkerchief,  a 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  237 

chain  of  crystal  beads,  and  a  few  rare  and  beauti 
ful  shells,  all  wrapped  up  in  a  paper  which  adver 
tised  the  Nancy  Beers'  sailing  on  Monday,  August 
30th,  —  and  this  was  Monday  ! 

Yet  such  is  the  involution  and  wonderful  struc 
ture  of  the  female  character  that  if  Josiah  Haz 
ard  had  asked  Sarah  Hart  to  marry  him,  she  would 
have  refused  without  compunction  or  reserve  of 
hope;  while  by  an  unintentionally  judicious  si 
lence,  he  awoke  a  mild  pique,  an  indefinite  un 
easiness  ;  and  then  had  the  wisdom  —  equally 
unconscious  —  to  send  her  a  nameless  gift  that  yet 
named  its  giver,  and  kept  him  always  in  mind. 

The  long,  dull  winter  did  not  serve  to  banish  Joe 
from  Sally's  mind  ;  she  could  not  but  think  of  him, 
when  the  storms  howled  frantically  through  the 
forest,  and  shook  her  mother's  little  brown  house 
with  invisible  blows.  When  rain  and  snow  blotted 
out  the  sweet  skies,  she  transferred  the  weather  of 
her  inland  town  to  the  far-off  Nancy  Beers,  and 
pitied  Joe  mightily.  Well  for  her  that  she  did  not 
see  the  lucky  fellow,  sailing  over  warm  and  tranquil 
seas,  scampering  up  and  down  the  rigging,  telling 
yarns  and  cracking  jokes  with  the  two  or  three  pas 
sengers,  and  behaving  himself  generally  like  a  man, 
as  he  was,  and  by  no  means  the  sentimental  idiot 
Sally  thought  him. 

Sally  did  not  go  to  the  beach  with  aunt  Lyddy 
next  summer,  for  her  mother  was  seized  with  con 
sumption  early  in  the  spring,  and  though  she  was 
only  her  stepmother,  yet  she  had  never  known  any 


238  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

other,  and  loved  her  dearly.  Poor  Sally  !  her  fa« 
ther  had  long  been  dead,  and  she  was  the  only 
child ;  for  ten  years  she  and  her  mother  had  lived 
there  alone,  and  grown  together  as  two  lonely  wo 
men  will,  unless  they  quarrel.  Now  she  was  so 
absorbed  in  her  new  fears,  her  unusual  care,  her 
wearing  anxiety,  that  it  gave  her  scarcely  a  regret 
to  see  aunt  Lyddy  leave  without  her  ;  but  she  took 
a  special  interest  in  the  shipping  news,  and  read 
with  care  every  arrival.  But  the  Nancy  Beers 
made  a  long  voyage  of  it  this  time  ;  it  was  late  in 
August  when  she  was  reported,  and  in  the  marine 
news  was  only  a  short  paragraph  stating  the  death 
of  the  first  mate  on  the  way  home,  killed  by  a  fall 
ing  spar  in  a  gale,  and  the  promotion  of  Josiah 
Hazard  to  fill  his  place.  It  was  unusual  enough  to 
report  such  a  small  matter  as  this  in  a  merchant 
vessel,  and  Sally  blushed  and  dimpled  over  the  par 
agraph,  with  a  certain  consciousness  that  it  had 
been  inserted  to  meet  her  eye,  and  she  was  really 
sorry  she  should  not  see  Joe  this  year  ;  aunt  Lyddy 
was  home  now,  so  there  was  no  chance  of  hearing 
of  him. 

Miss  Sally  reckoned  without  her  host.  The 
first  days  of  September  were  warm  and  clear ;  the 
windows  of  the  little  brown  house  were  set  wide  to 
catch  the  sweet  air,  a  few  late  roses  and  a  bed  of 
luxuriant  mignonette  perfumed  the  gentle  breeze 
that  swayed  Sally's  rich  curls  as  she  sat  on  the 
doorstep  with  her  sewing,  while  her  mother  slept ; 
perhaps  it  was  the  rustle  of  that  breeze  in  the  lilacs 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  239 

and  rosebushes  close  beside  her  that  prevented  her 
hearing  a  step  on  the  path  ;  but  she  felt  a  shadow 
on  her  sunshine,  and  looked  up  to  see  handsome  Joe 
Hazard  standing  in  the  soft  blaze,  smiling  like  a  bit 
of  sunshine  himself. 

Sally  was  gladder  to  see  him  than  she  meant  to 
be,  and  showed  it,  and  Joe  sat  down  beside  her  on 
the  doorstep,  lest  they  should  waken  the  invalid. 
For  the  same  reason  their  voices  were  lowered  to  a 
confidential  pitch,  and  though  Joe,  being  a  native 
gentleman,  forbore  to  harass  Sally  with  an  obtrusive 
exhibit  of  his  own  plans  and  hopes,  he  did  contrive 
to  get  leave  to  come  again  before  he  sailed,  and 
say  good-by  ;  for  his  furlough  would  be  short  this 
time.  So  in  a  week  he  reappeared,  and  persuaded 
Sally  to  take  a  walk  with  him  to  the  Lake  shore, 
where  they  sat  comfortably  down  on  a  log  and  took 
counsel  together  ;  on  what  matters  may  be  inferred 
from  the  parting  words. 

"  You  '11  think  on  't  now,  won't  ye,  Sally  ?  I 
won't  plague  for  a  real  yes  or  no,  now,  for  I  see 
you've  got  a  stormy  voy'ge  afore  you,  and  you 
ain't  clear  how  to  lay  your  head  yet.  We  ain't 
a-goin'  to  Chiny  this  year,  only  down  to  Eio  ;  our 
owners  hev  changed  their  trade,  or  ruther  we  've 
changed  owners  ;  so  's  't  Providence  permitting  as 
aunt  Judy  sez,  I  shall  heave  anchor  in  the  Bay  by 
next  June  sartain.  Can  I  come  an'  see  ye  then  ?  " 

"  We-e-11,"  said  Sally  slowly,  tracing  a  square 
on  the  sand  with  the  point  of  her  parasol  as  delib 
erately  as  if  her  life  depended  on  making  four  right 


240  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

angles,  "I  don't  know  but  what  it's  a  free 
country,  Mr.  Hazard ;  I  suppose  you  can  go  where 
you  're  a  mind  to,"  and  with  that  she  gave  him  such 
a  distracting,  bewitching  little  sidelong  look  from 
under  her  thick,  dark  lashes  that  Josiah  forgot 
himself  entirely,  and  a  faint  little  scream  from 
Sally  might  have  given  him  the  idea  that  she  did 
not  like  to  be  kissed,  but  he  did  not  quite  seem  to 
understand  it  so. 

And  with  that  he  departed,  as  sure  of  Sally  as 
if  they  had  been  married  a  week ;  for  the  vanity 
and  self-confidence  of  a  youth  like  Joe  are  amaz 
ing.  Sally  was  by  no  means  so  sure ;  she  returned 
to  her  nursing  and  her  anxiety,  a  little  ashamed  of 
herself,  and  very  uncertain  as  to  what  she  had  or 
had  not  tacitly  promised  ;  and  it  was  not  without 
some  indignation  that  she  received  by  mail,  a  few 
days  after,  a  genuine  love  letter  from  Joe,  and  a 
tiny  box  with  a  pearl  ring  in  it,  both  of  which  she 
consigned  to  the  farthest  corner  of  her  locked 
drawer,  since  the  Nancy  Beers  had  sailed,  and  she 
could  neither  answer  nor  return  the  epistle  or  the 
gift. 

Before  winter  her  mother  failed  to  an  alarming 
extent,  and  by  the  New  Year  she  was  dead.  Sally 
grieved  long  and  deeply,  but  she  was  young  ;  the 
springs  of  life  and  hope  were  still  elastic  within 
her;  health  fortified  her  spirits,  and  unacknow 
ledged  happiness  consoled  her  ;  for  Joe  would  keep 
writing  to  her  tender,  manly  letters,  by  every 
chance  he  got,  • —  letters  that  asked  for  no  answer, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  241 

but  seemed  to  know  her  loneliness,  understand  her 
need,  and  bring  her  help  just  when  and  where  it 
was  wanted.  Before  she  knew  it,  Sally  Hart  found 
herself  "  fathoms  deep  "  in  love,  and  when  June 
came  and  brought  Joe  with  it,  there  were  few  pre 
liminaries  to  be  arranged  before  she  consented  to 
wear  the  pearl  ring  on  her  third  finger,  and  to  give 
Joe  the  promise  which  he  so  saucily  flung  in  grand 
mother  Jopp's  face. 

Sally  did  not  mean  to  be  married  right  away, 
but  circumstances  were  too  much  for  her.  Joe  was 
to  have  the  post  of  first  mate  in  a  fine  new  ship  in 
the  China  trade,  owned  by  his  old  employers  ;  but 
his  next  voyage  would  be  a  long  one,  though  he  did 
not  sail  till  September,  and  he  could  not  leave  Sally 
homeless  till  such  time  as  he  should  return;  for 
though  she  was  just  now  staying  with  grandma  and 
aunt  Lyddy,  he  knew  that  the  atmosphere  in  that 
house  was  by  no  means  tranquil  or  cheering,  and 
that  Sally  was  neither  mistress  of  her  actions  nor 
her  time. 

"  What 's  the  use,  Sally  ?  "  pleaded  Joe.  "  You 
won't  have  me  round  but  a  plaguy  small  share  o' 
the  time,  let  me  be  to  home  all  I  can  fix  it.  Then 
if  you  're  settled  down  to  the  beach,  aunt  Lyddy 
can  stay  there  jest  as  much  as  she  wants  ter.  You 
won't  need  to  be  lonesome  an  hour,  either,  there  's 
too  many  Hazards  'nd  Tuckers  down  there  to  let  ye 
pine  for  company." 

"A  hazardous  sort  of  place,  isn't  it?"  asked 
Sally  demurely ;  but  simple-minded  Joe  did  not  at 


242  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

once  take  the  pun.  He  stared  at  her  with  blank 
eyes,  then  they  suddenly  lit  up,  and  a  loud  laugh 
followed. 

"  Ain't  you  smart !  I  say  for  't :  Sally,  you  be  a 
clipper.  Mebbe  it  '11  be  so  hazardous  you  '11  get 
tuckered  out !  There  !  " 

And  with  a  fresh  explosion  of  laughter  Joe 
launched  his  first  and  only  pun.  It  took  little 
more  persuasion  to  fetch  Sally  round  to  Joe's  wish, 
so  he  left  her  to  go  home  and  furbish  up  the  old 
gray  house  that  had  been  his  father's.  Sally  be 
took  herself  to  her  own  simple  preparations,  and 
the  second  week  in  July  they  were  married  in 
grandmother  Jopp's  parlor,  and  went  ..Home,  aunt 
Lyddy,  with  preternatural  tact,  refusing  to  go  with 
them,  but  promising  a  long  visit  in  September, 
when  Sally  would  need  her  more. 

A  happy  couple  indeed  they  were,  in  more  than 
the  conventional  term,  when  they  began  life  to 
gether  in  that  old  house.  Joe  had  taken  Demy  Haz 
ard  to  Boston  with  him  to  pick  out  some  chintz  for 
chairs  and  curtains,  and  with  surprising  taste  for  a 
longshore  girl  she  had  not  only  selected  the  pat 
tern  and  texture,  regardless  of  Joe's  pocket,  it  must 
be  owned,  but  she  had  offered  to  get  up  a  sewing 
bee  and  cover  the  furniture  for  him.  Joe  was  such 
a  universal  favorite  that  the  clan  had  already  for 
given  him  for  choosing  an  inland  wife,  and  they  all 
fell  to  work  with  zeal,  so  that  when  he  and  Sally 
alighted  from  the  rickety  wagon  sent  to  the  station 
to  fetch  them,  the  house  stood  open  and  homelike, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  243 

and  Demy  welcomed  them  at  the  door,  but  dis 
creetly  slipped  away  ;  while  Sally  took  off  her  hat 
and  dust-cloak  upstairs,  and  then  went  over  the 
house  hand  in  hand  with  Joe.  It  was  an  old  house, 
built  New  England  fashion,  with  two  square  rooms 
either  side  of  the  front  door,  a  twisted  staircase  in 
the  narrow  entry,  and  a  kitchen  behind,  off  one  end 
of  which  a  bedroom  was  partitioned,  and'  off  the 
other  a  big  pantry  ;  there  were  two  bedrooms  up 
stairs,  while  a  long  loft  or  garret  under  the  sloping 
roof  ran  from  side  to  side  over  the  kitchen  and  its 
end  rooms.  It  is  true  the  furniture  was  old  and 
quaint ;  but  Demy  had  covered  the  great  stuffed 
sofa  with  soft,  thick  cretonne,  a  gray  ground  strewn 
with  deep  red  carnations,  and  blue  sea-pink  flow 
ers  ;  the  chairs  were  re-cushioned  with  the  same 
stuff,  and  curtains  of  it  hung  before  the  windows ; 
there  was  a  dark  gray  carpet  on  the  floor,  with  a 
coral  pattern  of  scarlet  in  two  shades,  a  red  and 
blue  cloth  on  the  round  table,  where  also  were 
gathered  Joe's  foreign  treaures,  —  a  Japanese  idol 
or  two,  a  few  shells,  one  of  them  holding  wild  roses 
in  its  pink  convolutions,  a  Chinese  basket  of  foreign 
nuts,  and  the  big  family  Bible  in  the  midst  of  all. 
The  room  might  have  looked  gaudy  but  for  the  low 
ceiling,  the  gray  walls,  the  small-paned  windows  ; 
but  as  it  was,  there  was  only  an  aspect  of  cheer  and 
warmth,  and  a  delicate  odor  of  roses.  The  other 
room  was  all  of  Joe's  ordering ;  he  had  brought  its 
slight  bamboo  chairs,  its  settee  of  the  same  type, 
the  nests  of  teapoys,  the  scarlet  and  black  waiters 


244  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

that  leaned  against  the  wall,  even  the  delicate  mat 
ting,  home  in  the  Nancy  Beers  ;  and  the  dreadful 
dragons,  the  puffy  mandarins,  the  toppling  pago 
das  nailed  against  the  wall,  relieved  one's  mind, 
since  they  were  pictured  on  rice  paper,  from  a 
dread  of  their  long  and  ugly  endurance.  A  corner 
cupboard  held  a  set  of  curious  China  for  tea-drink- 
ings,  arid  a  few  old  spoons,  quaint  enough  to  match 
the  cups,  —  this  was  the  summer  parlor.  The 
kitchen  shone  with  neatness  ;  the  teakettle  sung  al 
ready  on  the  stove,  the  table  was  laid  for  two,  and 
in  the  pantry  good  store  of  fresh  bread,  yellow 
butter,  cake,  berries,  and  pies,  contributed  by 
friendly  neighbors,  promised  more  present  solace 
than  the  ungainly  pots  of  foreign  sweetmeats  Joe 
had  thought  it  necessary  to  provide.  It  was  a 
simple,  clean,  cheerful  old  house,  set  in  the  mid 
dle  of  a  flat  green  field,  but  it  seemed  a  little 
paradise  to  these  lovers,  and  the  mighty  diapason 
of  the  sea  did  not  daunt  them,  for  they  had  each 
other. 

However,  when  September  came,  and  Josiah  had 
gone,  Sally  began  to  feel  that  there  is  a  price  to 
pay  in  this  world  for  even  natural  and  honest  hap 
piness.  She  thought  she  had  been  lonely  before, 
but  what  had  it  been  ?  nothing  to  this  !  Poor  child ! 
she  had  not  known  her  own  measure,  her  own  pos 
sibilities,  nor  were  they  yet  fully  tested. 

Aunt  Lyddy  came  on  her  visit,  and  had  all  the 
news  of  Baxter  at  her  tongue's  end  to  relate,  and 
then  all  the  hospitalities  of  the  beach  to  receive  and 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  245 

return ;  besides,  Ait  was  the  year's  busy  season  to  a 
housekeeper  :  Sally  had  fruit  to  dry,  herbs  to  gather, 
apple-sauce  to  boil  down,  cranberries  to  store,  her 
few  house-plants  to  pot  for  winter  companions  ;  she 
must  see  to  the  potatoes,  the  carrots,  the  cabbages, 
and  put  down  her  winter  butter.  Her  deft  hand, 
clear  head,  and  good  sense  had  won  approbation 
and  respect  already  from  the  housewives  of  Matoo- 
noc,/who  were  not  the  most  skillful  or  provident 
of  their  kind,  but  too  apt  to  live  like  their  hus 
bands,  sailor  fashion,  from  hand  to  mouth.  But 
when  aunt  Lyddy  went  home,  when  the  bright, 
still  days  of  October  were  gone  ;  the  hillsides,  that 
had  glowed  like  fields  of  blood  with  red  huckle 
berry  leaves,  swept  bare  and  gray  ;  the  great  swamp 
turned  from  a  gorgeous  mass  of  gold  and  purple, 
scarlet  and  green,  to  a  low  and  leafless  stretch  of 
misty  woodland ;  when  the  splendid  sapphire  sea 
became  a  livid,  sweltering  ocean  beneath  a  threat 
ening  sky,  and  dashed  its  sullen  anger  on  the  shore, 
or,  lashed  by  mighty  winds,  drove  its  mad  tides  high 
in  air  and  far  on  land,  with  bits  of  wreck  and 
naked  vessels ;  when  fogs  lay  low  and  deep  over 
land  and  sea,  and  the  fog-horn  from  the  lighthouse 
sent  its  wailing,  warning  note  through  the  Dreary 
day  and  night ;  then  Sally's  heart  failed  her,  and 
she  thought  she  knew  what  it  was  to  be  a  sailor's 
wife ! 

Thank  God,  our  lives  come  to  us  only  day  by 
day !  There  are  a  few  hours  to  endure,  to  work, 
to  fight  with  dismay,  and  then  there  is  a  respite  at 


246  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

night,  —  except  for  those  who  dream  ;  and  Sally 
did  not  dream  ;  she  was  too  healthy,  too  practical, 
too  uninjured  by  trouble  or  pain  to  dream ;  sleep 
came  to  her  as  the  night  did,  a  blessing  from 
heaven,  and  even  the  fog-horn  ceased  to  keep  her 
ears  or  her  eyes  open  after  a  brief  experience.  But 
we  who  dream,  we  who  rehearse  every  sorrow  in 
new  and  ghastlier  form  ;  who  recall  the  dead,  with 
their  averted  eyes  and  alien  speech,  to  mock  our 
longing  and  baffle  our  grasp ;  who  predict  our 
coming  agonies  and  rehearse  them,  as  it  were,  be 
forehand,  even  waking  with  the  certainty  of  grief 
to  come  ;  or,  worst  of  all,  renew  in  sleep  the  joys 
forever  lost ;  clasp  with  fond  embrace  and  fervent 
caresses  the  little  forms  that  land  and  sea  separate 
from  us ;  see  face  to  face,  with  tender  recognition 
and  welcoming  kiss,  the  shape  and  countenance 
alienated  from  us  for  long,  lingering  years  ;  and 
then,  from  the  keen  rapture  and  joyful  surprise, 
wake  to  find  it  all  a  dream,  —  we  know  what  wear 
and  tear  to  soul  and  body  mortal  suffering  can  bring, 
but  we,  too,  thank  God  that  it  is  to-day's  burden 
only  we  have  to  bear,  and  not  to-morrow's  ;  that 
we  are  taught  and  accustomed  to  pray  only  for  our 
daily  bread. 

So  day  by  day  the  winter  wore  away  for  Sally. 
She  had  her  work  to  do,  which  helped  her,  as  work 
always  does ;  she  had  a  chicken-coop  behind  her 
woodshed,  and  the  fluttering  inmates  amused  and 
occupied  her  somewhat ;  the  neighbors  were  very 
friendly;  she  had  a  comfortable,  pleasant  home, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  247 

and  little  care ;  and  with  unconscious  philosophy 
she  comforted  herself,  thinking  how  much  worse 
off  she  might  be,  —  thoughts  which  are  wonderfully 
consoling  to  all  of  us,  if  we  can  only  think  them  ! 

Once  or  twice  she  heard  from  Joe,  and  more 
often  she  wrote  to  him,  hoping  some  of  her 
letters  might  reach  him,  much  as  she  might  hope  a 
dry  leaf,  wind-whirled  through  space,  would  alight 
on  any  given  shore ;  but  still  she  wrote.  Spring 
brought  her  the  comfort  of  outdoor  life,  the  cheer 
of  springing  grass,  of  budding  trees,  of  soft  winds 
and  showers,  of  work  in  her  garden,  and  new  life  in 
broods  of  bright-eyed  chicks,  fluffy  yellow  goslings, 
and  queer  little  waddling  ducks.  She  loved  pets, 
from  the  cross  old  cat  she  had  imported  from  Bax 
ter  and  waited  on  all  winter,  to  the  neighbor's 
droning  horse  that  carried  her  to  and  fro  to  the 
occasional  meeting,  or  to  get  the  semi-weekly  mail. 
She  wished  in  her  secret  heart,  with  all  the  shy 
fervor  of  a  young  and  childless  wife,  that  Heaven 
would  send  her  a  little  child  of  her  own,  to  share 
her  solitary,  longing  life,  and  make  it  blessed  ;  and 
for  want  of  such  a  grant  she  loved  all  little  living 
things,  and  felt  hope  bud  and  blossom  in  her  heart 
as  the  spring  went  on  and  the  birds  came,  and  all 
things  grew  in  life  and  strength ;  for  the  dear 
words  of  our  Lord  came  back  from  Nature's  inter 
preting,  —  "  if  He  so  care  for  these,"  and  it  seemed 
to  her  clear  as  a  special  revelation  that  Joe  would 
also  be  cared  for  and  returned  to  her  safely. 

Yet  it  was  a  long  year  and  a  long  voyage.     Sum- 


248  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

mer  came  and  went,  and  aunt  Lyddy  with  it,  but 
the  Clio  did  not  appear  in  Boston  Bay  ;  hope  grew 
sick,  and  faith  almost  despaired,  till,  in  the  middle 
of  October,  Joe  came  in  one  day  to  the  still,  clean 
kitchen,  and  put  his  arms  round  Sally,  who  had 
heard  his  step  coming  up  the  path,  but  in  a  very 
agony  of  joy  could  not  rise  to  meet  him. 

"  Only  one  month  !  " 

Sally  looked  into  Joe's  eyes  two  weeks  after  his 
coming  with  a  look  of  pain  and  surprise  hard  to 
bear. 

"  Well,  Sally  !  I  wish  to  mercy  I  could  help  it. 
Bless  you,  my  little  girl,  what  in  thunder  would 
you  do  ef  I  was  a  whalin'  cap'en  ?  three  years  a 
voy'ge,  an'  mebbe  seven ;  I  've  knowed  it  so  to  be." 

"  Do  !     I  'd  go  with  you  "  — 

"  Ho  !  ho !  ho  !  go  with  me  !  I  'm  blest  if  you 
would,  dear ;  a  whaler  ain't  no  place  for  women 
folks,  now  I  tell  ye.  Ef  I  was  only  owner  of  the 
Clio  you  could  go  along,  easy ;  but  a  whaler !  my 
eye !  how  do  you  think  you  'd  stan'  tryin'  out?  " 

"  But  only  a  month,  Joe  ?  "  Sally  recurred  with 
feminine  persistence. 

"  That 's  the  record,  Sally,  sure 's  you  live." 

And  seeing  she  could  not  help  it,  she  resolved  to 
be  as  cheerful  and  sweet  as  she  could  while  her 
husband  did  stay  ;  she  could  cry  and  fret  afterward. 
She  had  her  reward. 

"The  good  Lord  bless  ye,  little  woman,"  said 
Joe,  in  a  very  husky  voice,  as  he  held  her  tight  in 
his  arms,  trying  to  say  good-by  under  difficulties, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  249 

"  You  Ve  made  it  fair  weather  and  easy  sailin'  for 
ine  ever  sence  I  come  hom&,  an'  you  might  ha'  laid 
an  entire  different  course,  a  sight  easier,  too ;  but 
it 's  allers  ben  sunshine  an'  fair  winds,  though  't  was 
much  as  ever  you  could  handle  the  ship.  I  shall 
think  on  't  heaps  o'  times  a-keepin'  watch,  fair  or 
foul,  I  tell  ye." 

Before  Sally  could  speak  he  was  gone,  leaving 
her  heart  in  a  glow,  heavy  as  the  parting  was. 

This  second  year  was  not  so  hard  for  Sally,  and 
when  the  Clio  reached  Canton  there  was  a  letter 
sent  her  that  made  her  laugh  and  cry  too,  for  it 
ran  in  this  fashion  :  — 

MY  DEER  SALLY,  —  Here  we  be,  safe  to  Chiny, 
after  a  kind  of  a  dull  voyage,  never  sightin'  nothin' 
nor  nobody  so  's  to  hail  'em,  save  an'  except  a  Brit 
isher,  whereby  I  sent  you  a  letter,  but  like  enough 
this  '11  get  to  you  first.  Also  we  had  trouble 
aboard.  Cap'en  Green  he  fell  down  the  hatchway 
one  mornin' ;  well,  I  don't  say  he  need  to,  I  dono  's 
he  did,  and  I  dono  as  he  did,  but  when  a  man  crooks 
his  elbow  pootty  often,  and  afore  breakfast  too, 
why,  he  's  liable  to  trip  over  cables  and  sech,  and 
I  don't  think  he  's  more  'n  too  fit  to  boss  a  vessel, 
which  I  never  told  you  nothing  about  for  fear  you 
might  get  oneasy  ;  but  the  end  on't  is  he  had  suthin' 
on  the  brain  or  in  it,  an'  he  lay  a-ravin'  an'  a-tearin' 
a  month,  and  then  he  up  an'  died  two  weeks  afore 
we  made  port,  so 't  I  'm  yours  to  command,  — 
Cap'en  Hazard  as  sure  as  you  live  ! 


250  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

P.  S.  You  can  go  along  next  v'yage  ef  you 
want  to. 

Your  very  luving  husband,  JOE. 

When  the  letter  got  to  Sally  she  knew  very 
well  she  could  go  no  voyages  with  Joe ;  there  was 
another  future  before  her,  and  one  she  by  no  means 
quarreled  with,  but  fully  meant  to  keep  secret  from 
him,  actuated  by  the  same  reason  that  had  kept  him 
from  telling  her  how  incapable  a  captain  commanded 
the  Clio  when  she  last  sailed  out  of  Boston. 

Time  went  faster  now.  Early  spring  brought 
aunt  Lyddy,  eager  to  help  and  full  of  interest, 
and  the  first  of  July  actually  saw  grandmother 
Jopp  "  lighting  down,"  as  old  ballads  have  it,  from 
the  station-master's  wagon  at  Sally's  door,  in  com 
pany  with  an  obsolete  hair  trunk  and  a  big  band 
box  much  the  worse  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  bag 
gage-masters  and  travel. 

There  was  much  bustle  and  sharp  stir  of  prepa 
ration  now  in  the  old  gray  house  ;  store  of  tiny  gar 
ments  fluttering  in  the  hot  sun,  and  skillfully  ironed 
by  aunt  Lyddy  after  their  due  bleaching.  Grandma 
took  charge  of  the  poultry,  and  harried  them  to 
and  fro  till  hens  remonstrated,  and  geese  came  to 
open  war,  whenever  her  slat  sunbonnet  appeared 
out  of  doors.  In  short,  the  dynasty  of  the  tranquil 
gray  house  was  changing,  and  when  on  the  second 
anniversary  of  Sally's  wedding-day  a  pair  of  sturdy, 
splendid  boys  appeared,  the  kingdom  capitulated 
at  once,  and  was  given  over  to  its  double  monarchy. 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  251 

If  ever  there  was  a  happy  woman  in  the  world  it 
was  Sally  Hazard  ;  she  had  not  even  the  speck  in  her 
joy  of  Joe's  absence,  for  she  pleased  herself.,  lying 
quiet  in  the  still,  cool  chamber,  with  thinking  how 
much  anxiety  his  ignorance  had  spared  him,  how 
delicious  his  surprise  would  be  to  find  such  a  wel 
come  when  he  came  home.  So  she  lay  there  and 
watched  her  babies,  worshiping  them  with  an  un 
disguised  fondness  that  scared  grandmother  Jopp, 
but  in  obedience  to  tradition  she  treated  Sally 
with  great  respect  and  tenderness,  though  it  was 
mighty  irksome  to  her  soul  to  do  so. 

"  Land  o'  liberty,  Lyddy !  "  she  exclaimed  one 
morning,  as  she  came  into  the  kitchen  fresh  from 
a  pitched  battle  with  the  geese,  who  would  eat  the 
chickens'  food,  and  the  belligerent  old  rooster,  who 
would  fight  them  to  his  own  destruction.  "I'm 
tired  o'  mixin'  and  mussin' !  I  wished  ter  gracious 
Sally  'd  git  raound  agin.  I  Ve  ben  a-goin'  deli 
cately,  like  that  old  cretur  in  the  Bible,  'bout  as 
long  as  I  can  stan'  it,  a-whishin'  here,  an'  a-hushin' 
there,  and  a-steppin'  tippy-toe  till  my  legs  ache. 
I  'd  give  two  cents  for  a  firecracker,  jest  to  hear 
somethin'  pop  an'  done  with  't.  I  'in  so  tired  of 
that  everlastin'  swash  the  water  keeps  up,  an'  that 
everlastin'  '  Hush  '  you  keep  up." 

Aunt  Lyddy  flared  up  in  a  weakly  way :  — 

"  Why,  mother  Jopp !  you  do  beat  all !  You 
know  Sally  must  be  kep'  quiet,  now  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  so,  but  I  tell  ye  I  'm  a  goin'  to 
stop  till  she  's  outdoor  agin  and  pootty  well  smarted 


252  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

up,  V  then  I  'm  a-goin'  to  free  my  mind  to  her, 
you  'd  better  b'lieve  !  "  with  which  threat  she  strode 
once  more  into  the  ranks  of  greedy  geese,  and  sent 
terror  and  dispersion  into  their  souls  by  means  of 
an  old  broom  and  a  ragged  apron  wildly  beating 
the  air. 

Poor  Sally  !  only  two  weeks  after,  she  sat  in 
the  summer  parlor  watching  her  precious  babies 
asleep  in  either  end  of  a  long  cradle  she  had 
found  stored  away  in  the  garret,  a  relic  of  pre 
vious  twins  in  the  Hazard  family,  when  grandma 
Jopp  came  in. 

"Aren't  they  lovely,  grandma?"  she  began; 
just  see  how  soft  those  little  arms  are,  like  satin ; 
and  such  pretty  dimples  on  their  hands  ;  are  n't 
their  heads  lovely,  too,  so  smooth  and  round,  and 
such  mites  of  curls.  I  don't  believe  anybody  in 
the  world  ever  saw  such  babies." 

"  Sally,  don't  be  a  fool !  "  was  the  rapid  retort ; 
"  there  's  ben  heaps  of  babies  in  the  world  afore,  a 
sight  harnsomer  than  them  little  puckered  things  ; 
'n'  I  tell  you  what  you  're  a-makin'  idols  on  'em ; 
you  love  'em  too  much,  you  jest  worship  'em ! 
they  '11  be  took  away  from  you  awful  quick,  you 
see  ef  they  ain't !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  grandma."  Sally's  eyes 
blazed,  and  her  cheeks  burned  with  maternal  fury. 
"  I  don't  believe  mothers  can  love  their  children 
too  much  ;  if  they  don't  love  'em,  how  can  they  take 
care  of  them  day  and  night,  sick  or  well,  tired  or 
not  ?  I  believe  the  Lord  gave  them  to  me  to  love. 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  253 

He  ain't  afraid  I  '11  over-love  them ;  He  won't  take 
them  away  for  that,  I  know.  I  'd  be  ashamed  to 
think  so  hard  of  Him  !  " 

"  Why,  Sary  Hazard  ;  ain't  you  kinder  profane  ? 
'Pears  as  if  you  thought  you  was  dredful  intimate 
with  the  Lord's  ways." 

"  Well,  I  know  He  is  good,"  snapped  Sally,  with 
an  unspoken  doubt  in  her  heart  as  to  grandma's 
own  qualifications  of  that  sort ;  and  then  aunf 
Lyddy,  hearing  her  mother's  excited  tones,  came 
in  and  intimated  war  among  the  poultry,  and  be 
guiled  the  officious  old  lady  from  her  post;  and 
the  next  day  she  went  back  to  Baxter. 

Sally  did  not  stint  her  babies  of  love  ;  she  took 
them  into  her  heart  as  she  did  into  her  arms, 
with  «lose  and  warm  folding.  Their  gentle  baby 
breath  lulled  her  to  sleep ;  she  woke  again  and 
again  to  be  sure  of  them,  to  spread  their  coverings 
straight,  to  turn  them  on  another  side  for  coolness, 
to  kiss  with  soft  passion  the  calm  brows  untraced  by 
thought  or  care  ;  and  then  she  slept  again,  like  one 
who  wakes  from  a  happy  dream  and  sleeps  again 
more  happily  finding  it  is  a  waking  truth.  But  she 
neither  neglected  her  household  nor  weakly  coddled 
her  children.  A  young  girl  came  to  help  her  when 
aunt  Lyddy  left,  and  to  her  Sally  delegated  the 
housework  while  she  took  her  babies  out  in  the  air, 
one  on  either  arm,  in  the  fresh  autumn  days,  or 
put  them  to  sleep  in  an  old  hammock,  hung  from 
two  small  trees  by  the  shed  door.  The  babies  grew 
and  thrived  as  babies  will,  and  by  November  Sally 


254  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

began  to  make  ready  for  Joe ;  but  the  month  went 
on  and  on  without  him.  Other  vessels  that  had 
sailed  since  the  Clio  began  to  come  in,  and  in 
answer  to  Sally's  questions  the  owners  of  the  ves 
sel  could  only  reply  that  they  had  news  of  her  leav 
ing  port  on  the  proper  day,  but  none  farther. 
Slowly  the  year  fell  into  its  latter  days,  but  brought 
no  more  tidings.  Sally  was  anxious,  but  all  the 
shore  people  flocked  to  reassure  her,  and  her  cour 
age  did  not  fail.  Granny  Tucker,  the  wise  woman 
of  the  clan,  had  found  and  worked  the  key  to  the 
poor  little  mother's  nature. 

"  Keep  your  heart  up,  Sally,"  the  bent  and 
wrinkled  old  creature  said ;  "  I  've  come  to  see  ye 
a  good  two  mile  jest  to  say  that,  keep  your  heart 
up  ;  them  babies  '11  pine  away  as  sure  as  ye  don't ; 
keep  'em  pleasant  'an  you  keep  'em  well ;  bitter 
vittles  ain't  good  for  nobody,  leastest  of  all  for 
babies,  and  them  little  critters  is  dreadful  close  to 
the  ma  ;  they  're  too  little  to  know  better.  You  're 
jest  as  good  as  God  to  them,  an'  how  'd  you  feel  ef 
the  Lord  above  darkened  his  face  to  folks  ?  You 
keep  round ;  Joe  '11  turn  up  yet  all  right.  Haz 
ards  don't  drown  in  water,  now  I  tell  ye  ;  they  're 
a  lucky  lot." 

And  Sally  was  fortified  more  by  this  quaint  ad 
vice  than  by  all  her  own  faith  or  sense,  for  it  went 
to  the  heart  of  her  heart,  and  flourished.  It  was  a 
wonder  to  everybody  how  she  kept  strong  and 
bright  all  that  weary  winter,  and  how  the  babies 
grew.  If  anybody  hinted  that  Joe  was  lost,  she 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  255 

resented  it  like  an  insult.  Grandma  Jopp  sent  her 
a  letter  of  condolence  and  pious  quotations,  mixed 
with  a  great  deal  of  complacent  "I  told  ye  so,"  and 
with  it  an  old  crape  bonnet  and  veil  of  her  own, 
laid  aside  as  good  as  new,  which  Sally  returned, 
with  the  letter  inside,  by  the  very  next  train,  after 
a  burst  of  angry  tears,  but  with  no  answer  or  ac 
knowledgment. 

Spring  came,  but  no  word  from  Joe.  If  Sally's 
heart  sank  she  did  not  show  it  to  the  public  ; '  she 
fought  her  own  battles  in  secret  for  her  babies'  sake, 
and  rushed  out  from  under  the  accumulating  fears 
and  doubts  that  threatened  to  crush  her,  to  that 
safe  fold  of  love  her  darlings  inhabited,  seeking  rest 
and  strength  from  their  rosy  brave  faces,  their 
clinging  arms,  their  soft  lips  at  her  bosom,  their 
shining  heads  upon  her  breast,  and  never  seeking 
in  vain.  They  grew  in  the  keen  salt  air  and  broad 
sunshine,  with  incredible  vigor,  their  great  dark 
eyes  were  bright  and  calm,  their  dimpled  cheeks 
flushed  with  health,  their  voices  sweet  as  the  bird- 
voices  in  the  woods,  and  by  the  time  their  birthday 
came  they  were  able  to  run  about  the  house,  to 
stand  at  Sally's  knee,  to  call  the  "  papa  "  they  had 
never  seen,  to  mimic  the  dog,  the  cat,  the  chickens. 
Their  growth  and  forwardness  were  the  wonder  of 
all  the  beach,  and  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
loved  Sally's  babies,  for  by  this  time  they  all  knew 
Joe  was  dead.  But  Sally  never  gave  in. 

"  When  be  you  going  to  wean  them  great  chil 
dren  ?  "  remonstrated  aunt  Lyddy. 


256  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

"  When  Joe  comes  home,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 
"  I  want  them  to  be  babies  till  he  gets  here." 

"  Oh,  Sally !  "  whimpered  Mrs.  Lydia,  moved  to 
tears. 

"Aunt  Lyddy,  stop!  Joe  isn't  —  dead!"  the 
word  came  out  with  an  effort.  "  He 's  coming 
back.  I  know  he  is.  It 's  no  use  for  you  to  cry 
about  it.  I  'm  the  one  to  cry,  if  I  did  n't  know 
better.  Babies,  call  papa  !  "  and  with  a  tiny,  ring- 
ins1  shout  the  unconscious  creatures  uttered  the 

O 

name  they  could  not  understand. 

"  There  !  "  laughed  Sally  defiantly  ;  "  he  '11  come 
to  hear  that,  aunt  Lyddy !  "  and  the  woman  half 
believed  her. 

But  the  babies  called  in  vain  ;  the  summer  passed 
with  no  response.  Autumn  mocked  the  dying 
year  again  with  idle  splendors  and  elusive  mists  of 
glory :  the  frost  nipped  sharply  all  earth's  tender 
things  ;  the  north  wind  sounded  its  awful  trumpet 
and  hurled  wild  defiance  at  the  surging  sea ;  light 
showers  of  snow  drifted  across  the  blue  distance, 
and  dropped  their  chill  plumage  on  the  earth,  only 
to  fade  in  dews  in  that  salt  air.  It  was  November, 
—  it  was  Thanksgiving,  and  Sally,  returned  from 
dinner  at  uncle  Samuel  Hazard's,  where  the  twins 
had  been  the  pride  and  delight  of  the  day,  sat  alone 
by  the  dying  kitchen  fire ;  for  her  girl  had  gone 
home  to  her  own  people,  to  celebrate  the  festival, 
and  the  babies  lay  sound  asleep  upstairs  in  their 
mother's  bed,  hugging  the  spoils  of  the  day  that 
zealous  cousins  had  heaped  upon  them  :  rag  dollies, 


A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING.  257 

bright  balls  of  worsted,  knitted  reins  to  drive  the 
rocking-chairs  by,  all  lay  in  their  arms  or  scattered 
about  the  white  coverlet.  The  beautiful  curly 
heads,  the  dark-lashed  eyes,  the  red  lips,  the  dim 
pled  arms,  were  all  at  rest,  and  Sally  had  left  them 
at  last  to  think  her  own  thoughts  beside  the  em 
bers.  Her  weary  hands  were  clasped  about  her 
knees,  and  with  drooping  head  and  eyes,  dim  with 
coming  tears,  fixed  on  the  flickering  blaze,  she  sat 
there  in  the  quaint  old  settle  a  picture  to  make 
one's  heart  ache :  longing,  wearying,  agonizing  for 
the  one  presence  that  could  alone  make  the  day  a 
real  Thanksgiving  to  her  hungry  heart,  and  praying 
with  a  certain  desperation  for  Joe's  return.  She 
heard  yet  did  not  notice  the  swing  of  the  little  gate, 
the  soft  sand-muffled  steps  she  should  have  known. 
A  hand  on  the  latch  roused  her  ;  she  started  up  to 
see  the  door  open,  —  to  find  herself  in  Joe's  arms  ! 

It  was  a  long  time  before  she  asked  one  question, 
had  one  thought  but  that  Joe  was  there ;  and  when 
at  last  she  roused  to  make  a  few  inquiries,  it 
proved  to  be  the  old  story,  the  sailor  story  that 
has  broken  so  many  hearts  with  grief  or  joy,  — 
tempest,  shipwreck,  peril,  rescue,  and  late  resto 
ration  ;  but  Sally  was  impatient  of  detail. 

"  Joe  !  "  she  cried,  between  tears  and  laughing, 
looking  a  very  girl  again,  with  quick  blushes  on 
her  fair  face,  "  Joe,  it  is  Thanksgiving  Day,  and 
you  have  had  no  feast;  come  upstairs,  and  put 
away  these  worn  rags  for  your  Sunday  suit,  and  I  '11 
get  your  supper." 


258  A  DOUBLE  THANKSGIVING. 

"  Jest  as  if  it  would  n't  ha'  been  Thanksgiving  to 
me  to-day  ef  't  was  July,  Sally.     But  I  am  kinder , 
sharp-set,  I  allow.     I  've  driv  all  day  to  git  here, 
and  had  only  jest  a  bite  to  a  tavern." 

But  Sally  was  half-way  up  the  stairs,  and  Joe, 
wondering  at  her  unusual  particularity  about  his 
dress,  followed  her  to  the  bedside  of  his  babies. 

A  long  breath  heaved  his  great  chest ;  he  looked 
at  them,  then  at  Sally,  and  fell  on  his  knees  at  the 
bedside,  and  hid  his  face  in  the  pillow  without  a 
word.  It  was  the  triumph  of  keen  emotion  over 
the  reticent  New  England  temperament,  but  only 
the  triumph  of  a  moment ;  he  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  at  Sally,  who  stood  crying  and  smiling  like 
a  rainbow,  and  a  gleam  of  humor  lit  his  suspi 
ciously  shining  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"  'T  ain't  fair  to  double  up  things  on  a  feller  so, 
Sally  !  One  Thanksgivin'  was  all  I  could  steer : 
two  on  'em 's  agin  chart  an'  compass.  I  vow  ef  I 
ain't  ship  wracked  agin  !  " 

But  years  after,  when  other  children  climbed  to 
his  arms  or  leaned  against  his  knees,  there  was  no 
story  they  liked  to  hear  or  he  loved  to  tell  so  well 
as  the  story  of  his  "  Double  Thanksgiving." 


HOME  AGAIN. 

"  WHY  can't  you  stay  to  home,  Joseph,  and  work 
the  farm  just  as  father  done  before  ye  ?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  mother,  I  don't  hanker  to 
work  myself  into  an  old  man  before  my  time,  an' 
live  on  pork  and  potatoes  like  a  Paddy." 

Mrs.  Gillett  sighed.  She  was  a  thin,  sad-eyed 
woman  of  forty-five,  who  had  worked  herself  almost 
to  death,  and  lived  all  the  time  on  pork,  potatoes, 
and  pie,  the  triad  of  dyspeptic  demons  that  rule  in 
New  England  kitchens  ;  and  she  had  no  desires  be 
yond  her  round.  She  did  want  to  keep  her  boy  at 
home  to  be  company  and  help  to  her ;  he  was  her 
first-born,  and  now  the  only  child  of  his  mother : 
the  other  seven  filled  tiny  graves  under  the  daisies 
and  sorrel  in  Clinton  churchyard. 

Her  husband  had  died  of  a  sunstroke  in  the  corn 
field  two  years  ago.  He  never  made  a  will ;  so 
only  a  third  of  his  personal  property  came  to  her : 
one  third  of  a  silver  watch,  one  unbleached  shirt,  a 
leg  and  a  third  of  his  pantaloons,  —  for  he  had  two 
pair,  —  two  out  of  six  chairs,  and  so  on,  for  his 
"  personals  "  were  few  and  poor.  Joe  got  house  and 
land.  But  she  could  trust  her  boy,  and  she  looked 
forward  to  a  calm,  eventless  life  in  his  house,  think 
ing  to  knit  his  stockings,  tend  his  babies,  make  and 


260  HOME  AGAIN. 

mend  for  his  wife,  till  she  herself  should  go  to  her 
place  with  her  dead.  Joseph,  however,  was  of  a  dif 
ferent  mind ;  he  was  young  and  ambitious.  To 
this  time  he  had  not  made  any  definite  plans  for 
himself ;  only  fretted  over  his  barren  acres,  his  toil 
in  frost  and  sun,  his  monotonous  food,  made  pal 
atable  only  by  hunger  and  outdoor  labor,  and  his 
longing  to  be  and  do  something  better  than  his 
father  had  been  or  done.  A  night  or  two  before 
our  story  begins  he  had  met  an  old  schoolmate  at 
the  village  "  store,"  -  —  grand  resort  of  all  the  men 
near  enough  to  make  it  a  place  for  exchange  of 
gossip,  and  that  opinionated  wrangle  of  ideas  so 
precious  to  the  heart  of  every  true  American,  —  and 
there  Harry  Jenks  had  boasted  loudly  of  his  place 
in  New  York,  and  displayed  on  his  handsome  per 
son  such  clothes,  such  jewelry,  and  such  glazed  and 
astonishing  linen  that  Joe's  patched  and  rustic  gar 
ments  seemed  to  hurt  him  physically  with  the  sharp 
sense  of  humiliating  contrast ;  but  it  was  not  the 
brilliant  aspect  of  this  butterfly  alone  that  struck 
Joseph  ;  he  was  bewitched  with  the  picture  his  for 
mer  friend  drew  of  the  daily  excitements  and  nightly 
amusements  of  city  life  ;  his  brain  reeled  with  the 
ferment  of  new  thoughts,  his  life  seemed  dull  and 
stagnant  as  the  water  of  the  ditch  that  drained  his 
swamp  lots  ;  and  before  he  left  the  store  with  his 
jug  of  molasses  and  bag  of  meal  he  asked  Harry  to 
look  out  for  a  place  for  him  in  New  York.  He  had 
been  "  the  best  hand  at  figgers"  in  his  school,  and 
a  sturdy  honesty  and  common  sense  underlay  this 


HOME  AGAIN.  261 

talent,  fitting  him  by  nature  for  the  life  of  a  busi 
ness  man,  though  dormant  within  him  lay  a  warm 
and  generous  heart,  and  a  repressed  enthusiasm 
that  must  be  still  kept  dormant  if  he  expected  suc 
cess.  It  was  of  no  use  for  his  mother  to  offer  her 
feeble  arguments  to  his  strong  determination  ;  she 
felt  this  as  she  saw  the  look  of  uneasiness  and  con 
tempt  with  which  he  spoke  of  his  life  and  labor. 
With  womanly  instinct  she  brought  another  motive 
to  bear. 

"  Does  Cornelye  know  you  're  goin'  ?  " 

Joe  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  dark  hair.  "  No," 
he  said  sharply,  "  not  yet." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  she  '11  like  it,"  the  poor  woman 
injudiciously  added. 

Joe's  face  hardened.  "  Then  she  '11  have  to  do 
t'  other  thing."  With  which  ungracious  speech  he 
went  out  of  the  kitchen  door  to  the  barn. 

Cornelia  Marvin  was  a  delicate,  gentle  girl  who 
taught  school  in  Clinton,  where  she  had  been  born, 
and  left  a  solitary  orphan.  Joe  Gillett  had  known 
her  from  his  early  childhood,  and  had  drifted 
naturally  enough  into  "keeping  company"  with 
her  as  they  grew  older.  Cornelia  clung  to  him 
with  every  fibre  of  her  innocent,  honest  heart,  and 
he  accepted  the  homage  with  contented  compla 
cence,  but  rather  as  a  matter  of  course  than  with 
the  vivid,  ardent  passion  of  a  man  for  his  true  love 
and  future  wife.  No  form  of  words  had  ever  been 
uttered  between  them ;  they  passed  for  lovers  in 
the  village  gossip ;  and  who  could  see  the  girl's 


262  HOME  AGAIN. 

great  shy  hazel  eyes  upturned  to  Joseph,  the  color 
coming  and  going  in  her  cheek  like  the  reflection  of 
a  wild  rose  in  the  brook  it  overhangs,  without  read 
ing  in  nature's  own  lovely  language  the  story  of  her 
heart?  But  all  this  was  a  trivial  matter  to  Joe 
when  his  future  called  him.  He  might  marry  Nely 
some  time,  but  at  present  there  was  his  fortune  to 
make,  and  he  was  glad  that  no  pledge  of  speech  or 
letter  had  ever  given  form  to  the  idea  of  their  en 
gagement  :  he  was  a  free  man.  Yet  he  did  not  like 
to  tell  her  of  his  plans ;  he  left  the  news  to  drift 
about  till  it  reached  her ;  and  but  that  she  grew 
paler,  and  dismissed  school  at  three  o'clock  one  day 
because  she  had  a  dreadful  headache,  she  made  no 
sign.  Women  do  grow  pale  and  have  the  head 
ache  for  a  thousand  reasons,  and  who  can  tell 
whether  it  is  indignation  or  heart-break  ? 

Joe  shook  hands  with  her  on  Sunday,  after 
church,  and  said,  "  Good-by,  Cornelye.  I  s'pose 
you  have  heard  I  'm  going  to  York  into  a  bank?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "  I  hope 
you'll  do  great  things,  Joseph."  And  that  was 
all. 

Tommy  Plymny,  as  he  was  nicknamed,  an  odd 
character  who  served  as  chorus  to  all  the  village 
tragedies  and  comedies,  hobbled  up  just  as  they 
parted. 

"  Dew  tell !  goin'  to  York,  be  ye  now  ? 

'  Mid  scenes  of  confusion  an'  cretur  complaints, ' ' ' 

he  quavered  out  in  his  cracked  voice.     "  Well,  well, 


HOME  AGAIN,  263 

well !  't  ain't  more  'n  a  few  Sabba'  days  sence  I  re 
member  ye  a-toddlin'  to  meetin'  in  petticoats  'long 
of  yer  ma :  — 

'  The  creturs,  look  how  old  they  grow, 
How  old  they  grow,  how  old  they  grow, 
The  creturs,  look  how  old  they  grow  — 
An'  wait  their  fi'ry  doo-oo-oom  !  ' 

I  guess  you  won't  have  to  wait  for  it  long  down  to 
York,  'cordin'  to  the  tell.  'T  is  pretty  nigh  to  the 
gates  of  the  oncomfortable  place,  to  speak  within 
bounds  like." 

"  I  guess  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  Uncle  Tommy," 
said  Joe  with  a  laugh.  "  Harry  Jenks  ain't  gone 
to  the  bad  yet." 

"  I  dono,"  said  the  old  man  sadly.  "  He 's  got 
time  enough  yit;  the  bad  way's  dre'dful  smooth 
at  first. 

'Broad  is  the  road  that  leads  to  death, 

An'  thousands  walk  together  there ; 
But  wisdom  shows  a  narrer  path, 
With  here  an'  there  a  traveler.'  " 

Sung  to  the  lugubrious  old  tune  of  "  Windham," 
something  in  words  or  measure  gave  Joe  a  sort  of 
spiritual  chill;  he  turned  away  hurriedly  from 
Tommy  Hymny,  who  certainly  had  justified  his  nick 
name,  and  sought  for  Cornelia  with  a  blind  instinct, 
longing  for  some  friendly  look  or  word  ;  but  her 
lithe  and  slender  figure  was  far  in  the  distance,  and 
Joe  turned  homeward  a  little  daunted  at  the  lonely 
outlook,  glad  to  be  once  more  by  his  mother's  side. 
No  such  feeling  staid  with  him  long,  however ;  and 


264  HOME  AGAIN. 

soon  as  supper  was  over  he  said  to  his  mother, 
"  Well,  I  Ve  settled  everything  for  ye  so  far  as  I 
can.  Deacon  Hills  will  do  well  by  the  farm,  and 
what  you  don't  want  of  the  produce  he  '11  sell  for 
ye,  and  uncle  'Lias  will  haul  to  mill  'long  of  his 
corn  whatever  you  want  to  grind,  and  Tommy 
Hymny  '11  split  and  saw  the  wood,  and  see  to  such 
chores  as  you  want  him  to  see  to  ;  but  I  ain't  really 
easy  in  my  mind  about  your  bein'  here  alone." 

"  Well,  Joe,  I  don't  expect  I  shall  be  alone.  I 
want  to  get  settled  to  your  bein'  gone  for  a  spell, 
an'  then  I  '11  surely  have  somebody ;  there  's  wo 
men-folks  enough  'round  that  '11  be  glad  to  have 
their  board  for  their  comp'ny,  an  I  '11  let  ye  know 
right  off  when  I  'm  suited  with  one." 

"  I  'most  wish  you  'd  take  old  Tommy  in  ;  he  'd 
be  a  sight  of  help." 

"For  mercy's  sakes!  Why,  I  couldn't  stan'  it 
noway.  Men-folks  have  to  be  mended  an'  made  for, 
an'  they  're  always  masterful  an'  notional,  particu 
lar  an  old  bach  like  him ;  an'  I  could  n't  never 
stan'  his  singin'  hymns  like  an  old  cracked  hurdy- 
gurdy,  mornin',  noon,  an'  night,  whenever  he  see 
fit." 

"  That  is  some  nooisance,  I  allow.  I  wonder 
how  he  feU  into 't  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  had  a  half -crazy  kind  of  a  aunt  that 
fetched  him  up,  an'  she  learnt  him  the  hull  hymn 
book  through,  so  it  come  nateral  to  him  to  say  it 
when  't  was  fittin',  jest  as  some  folks  kote  Scripter 
for  every  airthly  thing,  an'  he  was  a  real  good 


HOME  AGAIN.  265 

singer  in  his  young  days,  so  he  got  sort  of  used 
to  words  an'  tunes  together,  besides  likin'  real  well 
to  hear  the  sound  of  his  voice.  Folks  give  him 
his  nickname  years  ago.  I  dono  as  he  reelly 
knows  by  this  time  whether  his  hymns  be  said  or 
sung,  or  whether  his  name  is  Hymny  or  Hin- 
man." 

Joe  yawned  over  the  explanation,  and  sauntered 
upstairs  to  pack  his  old  valise.  His  mother's  heart 
was  running  over  with  tender  counsel  and  motherly 
warning,  but  something  in  Joe's  cool  eye  and  care 
less  manner  shut  her  lips ;  she  could  only  carry  her 
burden  to  the  feet  of  her  Master,  and  leave  it  there 
for  a  power  transcending  even  maternal  love  to  lift 
and  bear  it  instead  of  her  faltering  strength. 

So  Joe  went  to  "  York  "  the  next  day,  and  before 
the  week  was  over  Cornelia  Marvin  had  come  to 
board  with  Mrs.  Gillett,  having  no  home  of  her  own, 
and  being  only  too  glad  to  leave  the  family  with 
whom  she  had  hitherto  lived  for  the  peace  and 
sweetness  and  unspoken  sympathy  of  Joe's  mother 
and  the  shelter  of  Joe's  home.  Old  Tommy  per 
formed  his  daily  duties  with  faithfulness,  and  added 
to  his  service  scraps  of  song  and  bits  of  consolation 
that  the  widow  could  well  have  spared ;  but  she 
bore  with  them  for  the  sake  of  his  really  kind  heart. 
So  her  days  went  on  in  creeping  quiet,  disturbed 
only  by  a  rare  letter  from  Joe,  who  was  not  used  to 
correspondence,  and  did  not  like  it. 

"Heered  from  Joseph,  hev  ye,  Mis'  Gillett?" 
was  the  daily  question  Tommy  asked  her ;  and  when 


266  HOME  AGAIN. 

a  long  time  went  by  between  her  affirmative 
answers,  he  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  went  off  wail 
ing  out,  to  the  tune  of  "  China,"  — 

"  Why  dew  we  mo'rn  deeparted  frien's  ?  " 

much  as  if  he  were  celebrating  a  funeral  service. 

Joseph,  however,  had  found  his  element  in  the 
great  city.  The  lowest  clerk  in  the  bank  where 
Harry  Jenks  had  found  him  a  place,  he  devoted 
himself  to  his  work  so  thoroughly  and  intelligently 
that  he  soon  drew  upon  himself  the  notice  of 
those  above  him.  He  unlearned  the  phrases  of  his 
country  speech,  and  spoke  like  the  rest  of  his  com 
panions.  He  saved  and  spared  till  a  city-cut  suit 
of  clothes  replaced  the  Sunday  garments  he  had 
worn  at  home.  He  looked  no  longer  like  a  rustic, 
yet  not  the  least  like  a  fop,  and  he  worked  with  a 
good  will  and  intent  purpose ;  spent  no  money  on 
amusements,  but  studied  in  his  solitary  evenings 
everything  that  could  help  him  in  his  business,  and 
went  to  bed  with  a  sound  conscience  and  a  cold 
heart,  —  sure  narcotics  for  any  man. 

It  had  been  Mrs.  Gillett's  one  hope  and  thought 
that  Joe  should  come  home  to  Thanksgiving  the 
first  time  that  festival  came  round  after  he  left  her. 
She  had  made  her  simple  preparations  for  the  day 
early.  Tommy  Hymny  had  provided  the  vegeta 
bles  that  she  had  not  raised  herself  and  brought 
her  the  very  biggest  squash  for  her  pies  that  ever 
grew  in  Clinton. 

"  Look  a-here,"  he  said,  as  he  struggled  up  to  the 


HOME  AGAIN.  267 

back  door,  carrying  the  great  straw-colored  fruit  in 
his  arms.  "  Did  y'  ever  see  sech  a  skosh  as  this 
here  ?  I  swow  to  man  it  beats  time.  Well,  't  ain't 
none  too  good  for  Thanksgivin  Day  pies,  an'  I  '11 
bet  a  cookey  Joe  never  see  nothin'  so  good  down  to 
York.  'T  is  kinder  good  to  hev  him  comin'  back. 

'  Who  shall  describe  the  jo-oys  thet  rise 
Through  all  the  courts  o'  paradise 
To  se-e-e  a  prodig-al  re-e-turn  ! ' 

Well,  I  don'  know  as  I  had  ought  to  call  him  a 
prodigal ;  he  ain't  one  o'  thet  sort.  I  had  ought  to 
have  broke  off  with  line  second.  Deacon  Hills  is 
a-goin'  to  send  over  the  turkey  to-morrer,  an'  I  '11 

kill  them  two  chickens  to-night  for  the  pie,  an' 

Why,  Cornelye  Marvin,  where  be  ye  goin'  ?  " 

"  Up  to  Putney,  to  keep  Thanksgiving  with  an 
old  schoolmate,  Uncle  Tommy,"  answered  a  sweet, 
steady  voice,  and  a  pale,  sad  countenance  smiled  at 
the  good  old  soul,  whose  broad  face  was  agape  with 
surprise. 

"  Well,  of  all  things  !  I  s'pose  you  thought 
two  was  comp'ny  an'  three  's  a  crowd.  Dreadful 
thoughtful  women-folks  be  ;  but  sometimes  they  're 
a  leetle  mite  too  much  ser.  I  bet  Joe  would  n't 
ha'  thought  you  'd  make  a  crowd,  anyhow." 

The  stage  drove  up  just  in  time  to  spare  Cornelia 
from  answering,  except  by  the  vivid  blush  that 
made  her  thin  cheeks  glow,  and  with  one  more 
good-by  to  the  widow,  who  understood  her  too  well 
to  ask  her  to  stay,  the  lonely  girl  left  her  home 
before  the  one  home-day  of  all  our  New  England 


268  HOME  AGAIN. 

world.  But  the  same  stage  brought  a  brief,  plau 
sible  letter  from  Joe.  He  could  not  come  back  so 
soon,  he  said.  Being  the  youngest  clerk  in  the 
bank,  he  did  not  like  to  ask  a  holiday,  and  the 
journey  would  be  expensive. 

The  widow  Gillett  sold  her  turkey  and  her  squash, 
and  ate  her  meagre  meal  in  bitterness  of  soul,  with 
no  Thanksgiving  story  or  song  in  her  lonely  heart. 
Uncle  Tommy's  condolence  was  in  vain,  being  of 
that  pungent  and  counter-irritant  sort  common  to 
his  race. 

"  Well,  well,  well !  so  he  ain't  a-comin'  ?  Beats 
all.  I  expect  you  sot  your  heart  on  't  too  much. 
Disapp'intment  is  good  for  pussonal  piety,  though. 
Some  like  med'cine.  Mabbe  you  've  made  a  idle 
of  Joseph,  Mis'  Gillett,  an'  so  Providence  is  a-tak- 
in'  ye  to  do  for 't. 

'  The  dearest  idle  I-I  hev  kno-own, 
Whate'er  thet  i-idle  be-e,'  " 

he  quavered,  casting  up  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  as  he 
went  on ;  but  when  the  verse  was  over,  and  he 
looked  round  complacently  for  his  hearer,  she  had 
gone,  and  shaking  his  head  mournfully,  he  took  up 
the  swill  pail  and  departed. 

Mrs.  Gillett  sent  no  word  of  reproach  to  Joe. 
She  had  a  dim  instinct  that  he  preferred  not  to 
come  home,  and  a  certain  healthy  pride  of  charac 
ter  forbade  her  to  urge  him  to  a  distasteful  duty 
merely  for  her  own  pleasure.  She  began  to  under 
stand  from  his  rare  letters  that  he  was  growing  into 
a  higher  place  than  his  mother's  home  or  heart ;  his 


HOME  AGAIN.  269 

language  was  of  another  style  than  the  rustic  utter 
ance  she  still  used,  and  his  talk  was  of  stocks  and 
shares,  of  pressing  business  and  astounding  successes. 
Year  after  year  passed  by,  and  still  he  did  not  come 
home  to  Thanksgiving,  and  ceased  even  to  excuse 
himself.  Now  and  then  a  handsome  present  came 
to  his  mother,  —  heavy  silk  for  a  dress,  winter  furs, 
soft  shawls,  or  warm  slippers ;  and  while  he  was 
duly  thanked  for  them,  they  were  "always  packed 
away  in  the  old  camphor  chest  that  had  kept  moths 
at  bay  all  his  mother's  life,  and  neither  worn  nor 
looked  at. 

"  Why  don't  you  wear  your  nice  warm  things, 
aunt  Serena  ?  "  asked  Cornelia,  during  one  bitter 
winter. 

"I  can't,  dear,"  said  the  patient  voice  of  the 
widow.  "  I  conceit  somehow  thet  they  would  n't 
warm  me  none.  I  'd  rather  set  eyes  on  Joseph 
than  hev  all  the  furs  and  things  under  the  hull 
canopy." 

Cornelia  turned  away  to  hide  her  overflowing 
eyes. 

But  Joe,  meantime,  was  drinking  a  full  cup  of 
success  ;  the  ten  years  that  had  already  whitened 
his  mother's  brown  hair  and  changed  the  slight, 
sweet  girl  Cornelia  into  a  grave  woman  with  a  firm, 
rounded  figure,  and  serious,  tender  face,  full  of 
thought  and  feeling,  had  transformed  Joe  still  more. 
He  had  given  every  power  of  his  life  to  the  acqui 
sition  of  money,  and  his  iron  will  had  bent  circum 
stances  to  his  favor,  and  grasped  every  occasion  or 


270  HOME  AGAIN. 

possibility  of  gain  ;  the  fleeting  fancy  of  his  youth, 
the  dark-eyed  maiden  who  had  done  him  homage, 
had  faded  from  his  inner  as  well  as  his  outer  vision. 
He  laid  dollar  on  dollar  aside  till  some  sure  invest 
ment  presented  itself,  and  then,  after  a  certain 
hoard  had  accumulated,  began  to  speculate.  His 
clear  head  and  retentive  memory  helped  him  to  an 
almost  marvelous  insight  into  the  possibilities  of 
the  Stock  Exchange,  and  his  money  returned  to  him 
again  and  again,  doubled  and  redoubled,  till  he  was 
almost  a  rich  man ;  and  then,  driven  by  that  greed 
which  grows  more  greedy  with  each  new  gain,  that 
devil's  hunger  and  thirst  which  warps  and  degrades 
the  human  soul  like  a  hidden  sin,  he  married  for 
money. 

Miss  Adelaide  Snyder  was  an  orphan  with  two 
millions  in  her  own  right,  and  being  long  past  her 
girlhood,  and  always  distrusting  such  friends  and 
lovers  as  approached  her,  because  she  felt  in  her 
narrow  soul  they  must  be  after  her  money  and 
not  her,  she  at  last  was  unfortunate  enough  to  fall 
madly  in  love  with  Mr.  Gillette,  the  handsome 
banker,  who  had  put  another  letter  on  to  his  father's 
old-fashioned  name,  and  given  its  last  syllable  the 
heavy  accent  so  much  more  "stylish"  than  that 
which  affiliated  it  with  "  billet  "  and  "  skillet." 
Joseph  Gillett  had  indeed  developed  into  a  much 
handsomer  man  than  even  his  mother  had  expected  ; 
good  food  had  furnished  him  with  abundant  muscle, 
and  the  early  and  long  walks  taken  to  his  business, 
in  order  to  save  car-fare,  had  preserved  his  health. 


HOME  AGAIN.  271 

Dissipation  had  not  tempted  him ;  he  was  too  busy 
to  play  ;  and  he  dressed  well  always,  being  keen 
enough  to  perceive  at  once  that  a  prosperous  aspect 
beckons  and  allures  prosperity,  to  seem  successful 
being  half  success  with  the  world  of  men.  There 
was  no  mistaking  Miss  Snyder's  sentiments  toward 
Joseph  ;  she  was  not  especially  shy  or  wanting  in 
self-appreciation  ;  she  understood  and  respected 
Joseph's  passion  for  money,  and  lavished  her  smiles 
and  attentions  upon  him  with  a  serene  confidence 
that  her  red  hair  and  sharp  features,  her  lean, 
angular  figure  and  graceless  aspect,  would  be  un 
seen  in  the  glitter  of  her  diamonds  and  the  glow 
of  her  gold. 

It  was  a  brief  courtship.  Joe  had  not  been  used 
to  linger  over  any  of  his  speculations,  and  he  made 
no  delay  about  this.  They  were  to  sail  at  once  for 
Europe,  and  buy  the  trousseau  in  Paris,  and  he  had 
only  time  to  send  his  mother  a  paper  with  the  short 
announcement  of  his  marriage,  and  a  postal  card  to 
tell  her  of  his  sudden  departure  for  another  land. 
He  did  not  once  think  of  asking  her  to  his  wed 
ding  ;  it  was  a  mere  business  arrangement  in  his 
rnind,  and  he  knew  very  well  what  scorn  would 
light  up  Miss  Snyder's  prominent  green  eyes  at 
sight  of  the  homely,  humble  little  woman  who  was 
to  be  her  mother-in-law. 

But  the  news  came  like  a  blow  on  Mrs.  Gillett. 
Deep  in  her  heart  still  burned  the  hope  that  after 
he  was  rich  Joseph  would  come  back  and  marry 
Cornelia,  who  had  grown  nearer  and  dearer  to  her 


272  HOME  AGAIN. 

with  each  year,  and  the  patient  woman's  thoughts 
would  wander  from  her  monotonous  knitting,  and 
weave  for  themselves  tender  motherly  dreams  of  a 
house  full  of  clinging  children,  a  chair  by  her  son's 
fireside,  an  old  age  of  honor  and  loving  tendance, 
and  a  renewal  of  her  own  motherhood  in  Joseph's 
and  Cornelia's  offspring. 

Now  this  was  over.  She  felt  with  almost  the 
certainty  of  knowledge  that  her  son's  wife  would  be 
no  comfort  to  her,  perhaps  even  ashamed  of  her. 
She  understood  with  a  sharp  emotion  of  regret 
why  she  had  not  been  asked  to  Joseph's  marriage ; 
but  the  regret  was  more  for  her  boy  than  herself. 
And  a  sharper  pang  yet  was  added  when  she  per 
ceived  that  Cornelia  paled  and  grew  silent  for  many 
a  long  week. 

Tommy  Hymny  alone  received  the  news  in  an 
appropriate  spirit. 

"  You  don't  say  our  Joseph 's  reely  married.  Hal- 
lylooyer  !  hallylooyer !  hallylooyer  !  Amen.  Well, 
well !  a  York  gal  too.  Rich  as  mud,  I  s'pose,  an' 
pootier  'n  a  pictur.  Sech  is  life,  Mis'  Gillett. 
Some  folks  hez  the  pertaters  an'  some  the  parin's ; 
\  is  his'n  to  get  the  old  'riginal  roots,  b'iled  an' 
skinned  an'  buttered,  an'  I  've  got  the  skins.  But 
land !  I  sorter  like  skins  ;  they  're  hullsome.  So 
Joe  's  married :  — 

'  Blest  be-e  the  tie-ie  that  binds.' 

That 's  so.  Well,  I  'd  sort  o'  consated  that  Cor- 
nelye  an'  him  would  hitch  hosses  for  the  traviled 


HOME  AGAIN.  273 

road  o'  this  world,  but  't  waVt  so  to  be.  Man 
proposes  an'  the  Lord  disposes,  they  say.  P'r'aps 
he  did  n't  propose,  though,  thet  is,  to  Cornelye. 
Anyway,  I  expect  he  's  got  a  good  un ; "  and 
Tommy  struck  up,  to  the  solemn  rhythm  of  "  Old 
Hundred,"  - 

"  '  O  may  this  pair  increasin'  find 

Substan-shill  playsures  of  the  mind ; 
Happee  too-gether  may  they  be, 
An'  both  united  '  — 

Darn  it !  I  've  forgot  the  rest.  I  don't  put  into 
't  reel  often.  This  town  's  consider' ble  like  hea 
ven  :  the'  ain't  much  marryiii'  an'  givin'  in  mar 
riage  here." 

And  having  thus  cackled  his  congratulations, 
Tommy  walked  off  to  the  barn. 

Another  cloud  seemed  now  to  have  settled  on 
the  Gillett  house  ;  both  Cornelia  and  aunt  Serena 
went  about  softly,  as  did  Agag  of  old,  feeling  that 
the  bitterness  of  life  was  upon  them  afresh.  The 
two  women  grew  pitifully  tender  of  each  other,  and 
perhaps  their  daily  work  and  duties  were  all  that 
saved  them  from  that  settled  melancholy  which 
sometimes  unfits  the  strongest  mind  for  its  earthly 
existence. 

Meanwhile  Joseph  was  enjoying  himself,  in  a 
certain  fashion,  abroad.  If  he  soon  found  out 
that  his  wife  was  jealous,  selfish,  and  exacting,  he 
set  that  down  to  the  loss  account  of  his  bargain 
against  the  two  millions  solid  gain  ;  and  if  some 
times  there  arose  beside  the  gaunt  and  unlovely 


274  HOME  AGAIN. 

figure  of  this  bride  in  priceless  costumes  and  jew 
els  the  delicate  outlines  of  a  girl  with  dark  melan 
choly  eyes  full  of  love  and  sorrow,  in  a  calico  gown 
and  white  apron,  the  sigh  he  involuntarily  uttered 
was  followed  by  a  little  expletive  of  scorn,  due  en 
tirely  to  the  aforesaid  calico  and  cambric,  for  his 
heart  was  yet  hardened.  Some  new  and  successful 
speculations  in  foreign  stocks  kept  him  busy,  and 
Mrs.  Gillette  amused  herself  with  operas  and  balls. 
She  too  had  found  out  that  Joseph  was  by  no  means 
the  lover  or  the  husband  she  had  expected,  but  she 
was  woman  of  the  world  enough  to  accept  the  situ 
ation  and  make  the  best  of  it. 

So  ten  years  more  rolled  by.  One  puny  baby  had 
been  born  of  this  heartless  union,  and  died  after  an 
hour  of  fluttering  life.  In  all  this  time  Joe  had  seen 
his  mother  but  twice :  once  when  he  brought  home 
the  baby  body  to  lay  it  beside  his  father  in  the  old 
churchyard ;  and  his  heart  seemed  open  again  to 
ward  his  mother  and  his  home  ;  he  sat  by  her  once 
more  in  the  time-worn  but  unchanged  kitchen,  and 
saw  how  years  and  longing  had  turned  her  hair  to 
bands  of  snow,  and  lined  her  face  with  the  fine 
script  of  grief  in  a  thousand  delicate  etchings.  He 
was  welcomed  by  Tommy  Hymny,  decrepit,  but 
unfaltering  in  his  quaver  :  — 

"Deary  me!  so  this  is  Joe!  Mister  Gillett,  I 
expect.  How  you  hev  growed  !  And  fetched  your 
babe  hum  to  the  cemet'ry  for  to  rest  beside  your 
folks.  Well,  well !  it  beats  all !  I  Ve  felt  for  ye, 
Joseph.  I  hev,  quite  a  little.  Providence  hain't 


HOME  AGAIN.  275 

gifted  me  with  no  children,  —  nor  no  wife,  for  the 
matter  o'  that ;  but  I  've  bore  up  under  't ;  less 
hev,  less  lose,  ye  know ;  and  I  ain't  never  one  to 
say,  Why  do  ye  so  ?  to  Providence  ;  I  've  kinder 
squirmed  along,  as  you  may  say,  and  hed  my  own 
troubles,  but  ye  know,  — 

'  Not  f  room  the  du-u-ust  affli-hic-tions  rise, 
Nor  trou-u-ubles  co-o-ome  by  chance.' 

Goes  real  good  to  '  St.  Martin's,'  that  does  —  seems 
to  kinder  sob.  Well,  well ;  good-by  to  ye,  Joseph  ; 
be  good,  an'  you  '11  be  happy  ;  mabbe  not  jest  here, 
but  there  's  t'  other  world,  ye  know." 

This  was  just  what  the  rich  banker  did  not  know 
practically,  but  he  went  back  to  his  splendid  home 
and  his  pining,  disappointed  wife,  with  Tommy's 
odd  phrases  ringing  in  his  ears,  soon,  however,  to 
be  forgotten  in  the  renewed  rush  for  the  wealth 
that  was  no  longer  a  blessing  to  him,  but  only  the 
minister  of  a  mad  and  degrading  greed  for  more 
gold.  Yet  neither  his  mother  nor  his  mother's  God 
had  forgotten  this  prodigal,  who  so  filled  himself 
with  husks.  Near  the  end  of  this  last  ten  years  a 
man  whom  he  had  trusted  with  the  blindest  confi 
dence  failed,  as  men  will  fail,  to  deserve  that 
trust;  embezzlement,  flight,  panic,  falling  houses, 
all  dragged  down  by  this  false  dependence  on  an 
other,  one  here  and  another  there,  like  the  outlying 
compartments  of  a  card  palace,  going  down  with 
shame  and  despair. 

It  is  an  old  story,  ever  new,  but  sad  as  it  is  old ; 
the  millionaire  of  to-day  may  be  the  beggar  of  to- 


276  HOME  AGAIN. 

morrow,  and  his  trust  in  uncertain  riches  once  gone, 
what  is  left  to  him  ? 

"  Crumble  it  —  and  what  comes  next  ? 
Is  it  God  ?  " 

And  there  were  added  to  this  loss  others,  contin 
gent  on  it,  that  left  Joseph  Gillett  a  solitary  man. 
The  shock  of  ruin  killed  his  wife  as  surely  as  any 
death-dealing  bullet ;  and  not  her  only,  for  with  her 
passing  soul  went  out  another,  the  yet  untried  spirit 
of  a  new-born  child,  long  desired,  eagerly  looked 
for,  as  the  heir  and  increaser  of  this  money  that  had 
proved  but  fairy  gold.  To  say  that  the  ruined 
banker  mourned  his  wife  would  be  a  mere  polite 
ness,  but  he  did  bitterly  grieve  for  the  child  he  had 
so  earnestly  wished  might  give  a  new  hope  and  rea 
son  to  his  own  existence ;  and  when  he  found  him 
self  almost  penniless,  after- he  had  laid  mother  and 
child  to  rest  in  the  gorgeous  suburban  grave-yard, 
where  long  since  he  had  erected  the  most  exquisite 
monument  of  its  vast  collection,  he  remembered, 
like  the  echo  of  a  past  life,  Tommy  Hymny's  quaint 
phrase,  "  There  's  t'  other  world,  ye  know." 

He  had  lingered  behind  the  funeral  train,  send 
ing  his  carriage  back  empty,  and  seated  himself  on 
a  little  hillock  to  watch  the  filling  of  the  grave  that 
held  the  two  tenants,  when  the  odd  words  came 
back  to  him.  The  low  sun  struck  across  the  shorn 
and  verdant  grass  at  his  feet,  the  sad,  sweet  odors 
of  late  autumn  filled  the  soft  air,  and  above  the 
suggestive  chamber  in  that  emerald  turf  rose,  on  a 
high  and  simple  pedestal,  the  shape  of  a  colossal 


HOME  AGAIN.  277 

woman,  holding  in  her  dropped  hand  a  slight  cross 
that  lay  against  her  side,  and  with  the  other  point 
ing  upward,  while  her  face,  radiant  with  trust  and 
expectance,  yet  calm  with  sure  and  certain  hope, 
looked  away  from  and  over  all  the  graves  beneath 
her  to  the  far  eastern  hills,  as  if  she  hailed  beyond 
them  the  advent  morning,  and  returned  in  her  eyes 
the  light  of  his  coming  who  is  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life.  That  exalted  look  of  serene  rapture  fell 
like  a  spell  on  the  arid  and  rocky  heart  of  Joseph 
Gillett;  his  losses  and  sorrows  vanished  for  the 
moment ;  that  other  world  drew  near  and  enveloped 
him  in  its  glory ;  his  flesh  and  spirit  quailed  be 
fore  the  suggestion  of  that  glad  aspect ;  some  old 
words  heard  in  his  childhood  rose  up  to  his  confu 
sion  :  "  Who  shall  abide  the  day  of  his  coming  ? 
And  who  shall  stand  when  He  appeareth  ? "  and 
before  their  awful  utterance  his  soul  shrank  and 
dwindled  as  in  the  very  presence  of  a  neglected 
and  forgotten  Master  asking  for  the  talents  in 
trusted  to  his  unfaithful  servant.  It  was  almost 
as  if  the  grave  gave  up  its  dead,  this  arising  of 
the  blinded  and  besotted  soul  at  the  word  of  the 
Lord ;  but  it  was  a  true  resurrection,  for  after  a 
long  hour  of  deep  and  torturing  conflict  within 
himself,  he  rose  up,  leaving  his  dead  behind  him, 
with  the  old  repentant  sentence  on  his  lips,  though 
man  never  heard  it  spoken,  "  Father,  I  have  sinned 
against  Heaven  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  no  more 
worthy  to  be  called  thy  son." 

And  it  happened  to  him,  as  before,  that  his  Fa- 


278  HOME  AGAIN. 

ther  saw  him  a  great  way  off,  and  had  compassion 
on  him. 

No  temptation  offered  him  to  return  to  his  busi 
ness  career  had  after  this  any  tempting  in  it.  To 
the  last  dollar  his  money  went  to  pay  all  that  he 
owed,  and  was  barely  sufficient  to  set  him  free; 
but  his  creditors  were  merciful,  and  accepted  what 
they  could  get  graciously,  knowing  very  well  that 
this,  the  chief  sufferer,  was  not  the  chief  sinner, 
who  had  at  the  first  alarm  put  wide  seas  between 
him  and  the  danger  of  losing  the  proceeds  of  his 
treason. 

It  was  hardly  a  grief  to  the  widow  Gillett  to 
hear  of  Joseph's  losses  ;  her  maternal  instinct  long 
ago  had  convinced  her  that  he  was  not  happy  with 
his  wife,  and  she  knew  that  his  money  had  built  up 
a  wall  of  separation  between  her  boy  and  herself. 
There  was  almost  a  smile  on  her  sweet  old  face  as 
she  told  Tommy,  when  he  came  tottering  into  the 
house  with  a  basket  of  apples,  the  story  of  failure 
and  poverty  that  had  befallen  Joseph. 

"  Good  Jericho !  you  don't  say  it  ?  Why,  I 
thought  he  was  rollin'  in  gold,  Mis'  Gillett.  Well, 
well !  't  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  sartin,  —  leastways 
the  love  on  't  is.  I  have  sorter  noticed,  though,  that 
folks  don't  seem  to  think  so.  Ain't  it  onsartin 
stuff? 

'  Riches  take  'em  wings  a-and  fly  ; 
Time  sha-all  soon  this  airth  remove.' 

That 's  so,  and  mabbe  't  is  for  the  best ;  most 
things  'is.  I  have  n't  never  hed  no  trouble  with 


HOME  AGAIN.  279 

money,  an'  I  'm  a'most  through,  without  it,  praise 
be  to  thanks  !  'T  is  kinder  perilous  stuff,  now 
ain't  it? 

'  What  sinners  valoo,  I  resign.' 

Not  to  say  Joseph 's  one  o'  the  sinners ;  but  mabbe 
he  '11  come  into  the  kingdom  now,  seein'  he 's 
stripped  an'  wownded  like  the  prodigy. 

'  Hearken,  ye  lively,  and  attend,  ye  vain  ones  ; 
Pause  in  your  mirth,  adversity  consider  ; 
Learn  from  a  friend's  pen,  sentimental,  painful, 
Death-bed  reflections.' " 

The  quaint  old  hymn,  delivered  in  Tommy's  most 
cracked  and  wandering  quaver,  sinking  into  a  minor 
growl  at  the  end,  was  almost  too  much  for  the  wid 
ow's  gravity;  she  turned  suddenly  into  the  door, 
and  Tommy  mumbled  as  he  went,  "  'T  ain't  quite 
my  death-bed,  nuther  ;  but  hymns  an'  psalms  don't 
fit  as  close  as  a  new  boot  allers  ;  there  hez  to  be  a 
margin." 

This  year  there  would  indeed  be  a  Thanksgiving 
at  the  Gillett  farm,  for  Joseph  had  resolved  to 
come  home  and  live  with  his  mother.  In  his  pros 
perity  he  had  given  her  the  farm  for  her  own,  and 
added  to  the  deed  twenty  thousand  dollars,  which 
was  far  more  than  she  needed  in  her  simple  life,  so 
that  now  it  had  accumulated  considerably,  and  she 
had  enough  to  keep  her  boy,  as  she  still  called  him, 
in  comfort. 

This  time  Cornelia  did  not  run  away ;  she  thought 
of  herself  as  an  old  woman,  now  that  twenty  long 
years  stood  between  her  and  the  girl  of  eighteen 


280  HOME  AGAIN. 

who  had  believed  Joe  Gillett  loved  her  as  she  loved 
him ;  and  her  color  did  not  fade  or  her  heart  falter 
as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  welcome  her  old  friend, 
as  soon  as  his  mother's  silent,  tearful  greeting  was 
over. 

Joseph  could  not  believe  his  eyes.  He  was  gray, 
haggard,  bent,  showing  to  the  full  his  forty-five 
years ;  but  not  a  line  of  silver  streaked  Cornelia's 
abundant  dark  hair,  her  eyes  were  sweet  and  serene, 
her  broad  forehead  calm  and  noble,  a  steady  rose 
of  health  glowed  on  her  cheek,  and  the  firm  full 
lips  were  crimson  as  the  rose's  bud.  She  had  been 
a  lovely  girl ;  she  was  now  a  superb  and  serious 
woman,  —  one  of  those  who  give  an  inexpressible 
sense  of  comfort  and  cheer  wherever  they  are  met, 
and  can  make  even  a  poor  and  dreary  house  into  a 
real  home  by  their  presence.  For  a  long  and 
weary  time  Joe  Gillett  had  not  tasted  peaceful  hap 
piness.  Now  as  he  sat  by  the  crackling  fire,  with 
his  mother  beside  him  and  Cornelia  at  the  table 
sewing,  just  across  the  hearth,  he  seemed  to  him 
self  to  have  been  a  mad  fool  for  the  last  twenty 
years  ;  he  could  not  even  smile  without  a  half  sigh 
when  old  Tommy  stumbled  into  the  kitchen  after 
tea,  to  welcome  him  home. 

"  Well,  well,  well !  here  ye  be,  Joseph !  jest  as 
large  as  life,  an'  twice  as  nateral.  I'm  'mazin' 
tickled  to  see  ye.  I  guess  I  be. 

*  When  I  sot  out  for  glory 
I  lef '  the  world  behind.' 

That's  so.     Now,   Mis'  Gillett,   you'll  hev  sech 


HOME  AGAIN.  281 

another  Thanksgivin'  Day,  won't  ye  ?  Yittles  of 
the  best,  pies  an'  things  of  the  reel  old-fashioned 
stripe,  Joseph.  I  see  'em  last  night  a-settin'  on 
the  butt'ry  shelf  in  rows,  an'  that  there  turkey  o' 
Deacon  Hills's  raisin'  is  jest  as  fat  an'  white  as  a 
chestnut  worm  ;  an'  I  picked  the  crambries  myself 
down  in  th'  old  tamarack  swamp ;  that 's  the  carnal 
an'  airthly  part  on  't;  the  speritooal  's  better;  here 
ye  be  agin,  th'  only  son,  an'  she  a  widder. 

'  Hallylooyer !   't  is  done ! 

I  believe  in  the  Son, 

An'  to  glory  we  will  go,  will  go,  will  go, 
An'  to  glory  we  will  go.' 

Yes,  marcy  's  better  'n  sacrifice  an'  burnt-offerin's. 
Yer  boy  's  got  to  the  old  pecooliar  place  where  he 
was  fetched  up,  an'  you  've  ben  an'  killed  the  fatted 
calf,  —  tjiet  is  to  say,  the  turkey,  ye  know ;  same 
sperit,  — an'  you  've  got  your  reward,  —  yes,  inarm. 

'  The  men  of  grace  hev  found 
Glo-ree  begun  below, 
Celestyill  fruit  on  airthly  ground.' 

Well,  I  must  be  a-goih'." 

Cornelia  had  vanished  too,  —  tears  and  laughter 
together  had  been  too  much  for  her ;  and  long  into 
the  night  Joe  and  his  mother  sat  by  the  fire,  saying 
little,  but  full  of  thought. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Joseph  Gillett  dared  to 
ask  Cornelia  for  the  heart  he  had  once  thrown  away, 
and  longer  still  before  she  gave  it  openly  into  his 
keeping.  He  never  fully  knew  how  faithful  it 
had  been  to  him  in  absence  and  neglect. 


282  HOME  AGAIN. 

The  next  year's  Thanksgiving  Day  had  a  double 
celebration.  Early  in  the  morning  the  old  minister 
drove  over  to  the  Gillett  farm,  and,  before  no  wit 
ness  but  his  mother,  Joseph  and  Cornelia  were 
married,  and  even  that  mother  felt  no  pang  of 
jealous  affection  when  Joseph  turned  to  his  wife 
and  said,  with  trembling  lips,  — 

"  Now  I  am  at  home  again,  Nely,  and  ready  to 
give  thanks." 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  regret,  and  that  was 
Tommy  Hymny's  absence ;  but  old  age  had  weak 
ened  him  at  last,  and  a  severe  fall  had  broken  his 
hip  ;  he  was  fast  sinking  into  the  grave.  After  din 
ner  Cornelia  and  Joe  went  over  to  the  tiny  house 
he  lived  in,  to  carry  him  some  of  the  feast  and  cheer 
his  loneliness. 

"  Here  you  be,"  said  the  weak,  cheerful  voice, 
and  the  still  keen  old  eyes  sparkled  with  welcome. 
"  I  've  lived  to  see  this  day  fin'ly,  an'  I  did  n't 
skerce  expect  to.  I  'm  as  pleased  as  pie,  Joseph. 
I  tell  ye  she  's  a  dreadful  good  woman,  Cornelye  is ; 
one  of  the  fust  best.  I  'd  kinder  like  to  see  ye 
livin'  together  in  peace  an'  so  on,  but  I  'm  goin' 
hum,  an'  that 's  better. 

'I'm  goin'  hum,  I  'm  goin'  hum, 
I  'm  goin'  hum,  to  die  no  more.'  " 

The  feeble  quaver  and  the  smiling  eye  were  in 
expressibly  touching.  Quick  tears  filled  the  bride's 
eyes. 

"  Why,  don't  ye,  now !  don't  ye  !  "  said  Tommy 
earnestly.  "  I  'm  awful  glad.  I  hain't  never  be- 


HOME  AGAIN.  283 

longed  to  nobody  in  p'ticular  here  below,  an'  I  do 
'lot  on  seeiii'  our  folks  in  t'  other  world.  There  's 
mother:  I  set  by  mother  a  sight  when  I  was  a 
leetle  shaver  ;  seemed  as  though  I  could  n't  noways 

hev  her  go.     Pa  'd  died  afore  I  was  born,  ye  see, 

fell  off'n  a  barn  ;  but  I  hed  to  live  ;  kinder  squirmed 
up,  as  ye  may  say ;  but  I  've  dreamed  about  mother 
more  times  !  There  's  aunt  Pamelye  Ann,  too,  she 
that  learned  me  sech  a  sight  o'  hymns.  I  expect 
she  's  ben  a-harpin'  an'  a-singin'  ever  sence  she  got 
there.  I  'd  like  to  jine  in  along  of  her  once  more. 
S'pose  pa  will  be  pleased  to  see  me  too.  Dear  me  ! 
it 's  revivin'  to  think  of. 

*  On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stan', 

An'  cast  a  wishful  eye 
Towardst  Canaan's  fair  an'  happy  land, 
Where  my  '  — 

Oh  dear  !  I  can't  sing  no  more.  I  do  reely  b'lieve 
I  'rn  a-goin'.  I  'm  so  thankful  "  — 

A  smile  ran  across  the  withered  old  face  like  a 
gleam  of  sudden  light,  a  flickering  shadow  followed. 
Tommy  raised  himself  on  one  arm. 

"  Don't  think  I  forget  -the  Lord.  He 's  the  hull 
on  't.  I  'm  a-goin'  to  keep  Thanksgivin'  'long  o' 
Him. 

'Glory  be  to'  "  — 

And  with  this  last  hymn  lingering  on  his  pallid 
lips,  he  laid  his  head  back  on  the  pillow,  smiled,  and 
died. 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

"  IF  there 's  anything  on  the  face  of  the  earth  I 
do  hate,  it 's  an  old  maid  !  " 

Mrs.  Stearns  looked  up  from  her  sewing  in  as 
tonishment. 

"Why,  Miss  Celia!" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  it.  I  'm  one  myself,  but  all 
the  same,  I  hate  'ern  worse  than  p'ison.  They  ain't 
nothing  nor  nobody ;  they  're  cumberers  of  the 
ground."  And  Celia  Barnes  laid  down  her  scis 
sors  with  a  bang,  as  if  she  might  be  Atropos  herself, 
ready  to  cut  the  thread  of  life  for  all  the  despised 
class  of  which  she  was  a  notable  member. 

The  minister's  wife  was  genuinely  surprised  at 
this  outburst ;  she  herself  had  been  well  along  in 
life  before  she  married,  and  though  she  had  been 
fairly  happy  in  the  uncertain  relationship  to  which 
she  had  attained,  she  was,  on  the  whole,  inclined  to 
agree  with  St.  Paul,  that  the  woman  who  did  not 
marry  "  doeth  better."  "  I  don't  agree  with  you, 
Miss  Celia,"  she  said  gently.  "Many,  indeed, 
most  of  my  best  friends  are  maiden  ladies,  and 
I  respect  and  love  them  just  as  much  as  if  they 
were  married  women." 

"  Well,  I  don't.  A  woman  that 's  married  is 
somebody ;  she  's  got  a  place  in  the  world  ;  she  ain't 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  IIEE  MIND.        285 

everybody's  tag  ;  folks  don't  say,  '  Oh,  it 's  nobody 
but  that  old  maid  Celye  Barnes  ; '  it 's  '  Mis'  Price/ 
and  '  Mis'  Sirnms,'  or  '  Thomas  Smith's  wife,'  as 
though  you  was  somebody.  I  don't  know  how  't  is 
elsewheres,  but  here  in  Bassett  you  might  as  well  be 
a  dog  as  an  old  maid.  I  allow  it  might  be  better 
if  they  all  had  means  or  eddication :  money  's  '  a 
dreadful  good  thing  to  have  in  the  house,'  as  I  see 
in  a  book  once,  and  learning  is  sort  of  comp'ny  to 
you  if  you  're  lonesome  ;  but  then  lonesome  you  be, 
and  you  've  got  to  be,  if  you  're  an  old  maid,  and  it 
can't  be  helped  noway." 

Mrs.  Stearns  smiled  a  little  sadly,  thinking  that 
even  married  life  had  its  own  loneliness  when  your 
husband  was  shut  up  in  his  study,  or  gone  off  on  a 
long  drive  to  see  some  sick  parishioner  or  conduct 
a  neighborhood  prayer-meeting,  or  even  when  he 
was  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace  absorbed  in  a 
religious  paper  or  a  New  York  daily,  or  meditating 
on  his  next  sermon,  while  the  silent  wife  sat  un 
noticed  at  her  mending  or  knitting.  "But  mar 
ried  women  have  more  troubles  and  responsibili 
ties  than  the  unmarried,  Miss  Celia,"  she  said. 
"  You  have  no  children  to  bring  up  and  be  anxious 
about,  no  daily  dread  of  not  doing  your  duty  by 
the  family  whom  you  preside  over,  and  no  fear  of 
the  supplies  giving  out  that  are  really  needed.  No 
body  but  your  own  self  to  look  out  for." 

"  That 's  jest  it,"  snapped  Celia,  laying  down  the 
boy's  coat  she  was  sewing  with  a  vicious  jerk  of  her 
thread.  "  There  't  is !  Nobody  to  home  to  care  if 


286        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

you  live  or  die  ;  nobody  to  peek  out  of  the  winder 
to  see  if  you  're  comin',  or  to  make  a  mess  of  gruel 
or  a  cup  of  tea  for  you,  or  to  throw  ye  a  feelin' 
word  if  you  're  sick  nigh  unto  death.  And  old 
maids  is  just  as  li'ble  to  up  and  die  as  them  that 's 
married.  And  as  to  responsibility,  I  ain't  afraid  to 
tackle  that.  Never!  I  don't  hold  with  them  that 
cringe  and  crawl  and  are  skeert  at  a  shadder,  and 
won't  do  a  living  thing  that  they  had  ought  to  do 
because  they  're  '  afraid  to  take  the  responsibility.' 
Why,  there  's  Mrs.  Deacon  Trimble,  she  durst  n't  so 
much  as  set  up  a  prayer-meetin'  for  missions  or  the 
temp'rance  cause,  because  't  was  '  sech  a  reespon- 
sibility  to  take  the  lead  in  them  matters.'  I  sup 
pose  it 's  soinethin'  of  a  responsible  chore  to  preach 
the  gospel  to  the  heathen,  or  grab  a  drinkin'  fel 
ler  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck  and  haul  him  out  of 
the  horrible  pit  anyway,  but  if  it 's  dooty  it 's  got 
to  be  done,  whether  or  no ;  and  I  ain't  afraid  of 
pitchin'  into  anything  the  Lord  sets  me  to  do !  " 

"  Except  being  an  old  maid,"  said  Mrs.  Stearns. 

Celia  darted  a  sharp  glance  at  her  over  her  sil 
ver-rimmed  spectacles,  and  pulled  her  needle 
through  and  through  the  seams  of  Willy's  jacket 
with  fresh  vigor,  while  a  thoughtful  shadow  came 
across  her  fine  old  face.  Celia  was  a  candid  woman, 
for  all  her  prejudices,  a  combination  peculiarly  char 
acteristic  of  New  England,  for  she  was  a  typical 
Yankee.  Presently  she  said  abruptly,  "  I  had  n't 
thought  on  't  in  that  light."  But  then  the  minis* 
ter  opened  the  door,  and  the  conversation  stopped. 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.        287 

Parson  Stearns  was  tired  and  hungry  and  cross, 
and  his  wife  knew  all  that  as  soon  as  she  saw  his 
face.  She  had  learned  long  ago  that  ministers, 
however  good  they  may  be,  are  still  men  ;  so  to-day 
she  had  kept  her  husband's  dinner  warm  in  the 
imder-oven,  and  had  the  kettle  boiling  to  make  him 
a  cup  of  tea  on  the  spot  to  assuage  his  irritation  in 
the  shortest  and  surest  way ;  but  though  the  odor  of 
a  savory  stew  and  the  cheerful  warmth  of  the  cook 
ing-stove  greeted  him  as  he  preceded  her  through 
the  door  into  the  kitchen,  he  snapped  out,  sharply 
enough  for  Celia  to  hear  him  through  the  half-closed 
door,  "  What  do  you  have  that  old  maid  here  for 
so  often  ?  " 

"  There !  "  said  Celia  to  herself,  —  "  there  't  is  ! 
He  don't  look  upon't  as  a  dispensation,  if  she 
doos.  Men -folks  run  the  world,  and  they  know 
it.  There  ain't  one  of  the  hull  caboodle  but  what 
despises  an  onmarried  woman  !  Well,  't  ain't  alto 
gether  my  fault.  I  would  n't  marry  them  that  I 
could  ;  I  could  n't  —  not  and  be  honest ;  and  them 
that  I  would  hev  had  did  n't  ask  me.  I  don't 
know  as  I  'm  to  blame,  after  all,  when  you  look 
into  't." 

And  she  went  on  sewing  Willy's  jacket,  con 
trived  with  pains  and  skill  out  of  an  old  coat  of 
his  father's,  while  Mrs.  Stearns  poured  out  her  hus 
band's  tea  in  the  kitchen,  replenished  his  plate  with 
stew,  and  cut  for  him  more  than  one  segment  of 
the  crisp,  fresh  apple-pie,  and  urged  upon  him  the 
squares  of  new  cheese  that  legitimately  accompany 


288        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HEE  MIND. 

this  deleterious  viand  of  the  race  and  country,  the 
sempiternal,  insistent,  flagrant,  and  alas !  also  fra 
grant  pie. 

Celia  Barnes  was  the  tailoress  of  the  little  scat 
tered  country  town  of  Bassett.  Early  left  an  orphan, 
without  near  relatives  or  money,  she  had  received 
the  scantiest  measure  of  education  that  our  town 
authorities  deal  to  the  pauper  children  of  such 
organizations.  She  was  ten  years  old  when  her 
mother,  a  widow  for  almost  all  those  ten  years,  left 
her  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  selectmen  of  Bas 
sett.  The  selectmen  of  our  country  towns  are  al 
most  irresponsible  governors  of  their  petty  spheres, 
and  gratify  the  instinct  of  oligarchy  peculiar  to,  and 
conservative  of,  the  human  race.  Men  must  be 
governed  and  tyrannized  over,  —  it  is  an  inborn 
necessity  of  their  nature  ;  and  while  a  republic  is 
a  beautiful  theory,  eminently  fitted  for  a  race  who 
are  "  non  Angli,  sed  Angeli,"  it  has  in  practice  the 
effect  of  producing  more  than  Russian  tyranny, 
but  on  smaller  scales  and  in  far  and  scattered  lo 
calities.  Nowhere  are  there  more  despots  than 
among  village  selectmen  in  New  England.  Those 
who  have  wrestled  with  their  absolute  monarchism 
in  behalf  of  some  charity  that  might  abstract  a  few 
of  the  almighty  dollars  made  out  of  poverty  and 
distress  from  their  official  pockets  know  how  pos 
itive  and  dogmatic  is  their  use  of  power  —  experto 
crede.  The  Bassett  "first  selectman"  promptly 
bound  out  little  Celia  Barnes  to  a  hard,  imperi 
ous  woman,  who  made  a  white  slave  of  the  child, 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.         289 

and  only  dealt  out  to  her  the  smallest  measure  of 
schooling  demanded  by  law,  because  the  good  old 
minister,  Father  Perkins,  interfered  in  the  child's 
behalf. 

As  she  was  strong  and  hardy  and  resolute,  Celia 
lived  through  her  bondage,  and  at  the  "  free  "  age 
of  eighteen  apprenticed  herself  to  old  Miss  Polly 
Mariner,  the  Bassett  tailoress,  and  being  deft  with 
her  fingers  and  quick  of  brain,  soon  outran  her 
teacher,  and  when  Polly  died,  succeeded  to  her 
business. 

She  was  a  bright  girl,  not  particularly  noticeable 
among  others,  for  she  had  none  of  that  delicate 
flower-like  New  England  beauty  which  is  so  pe 
culiar,  so  charming,  and  so  evanescent ;  her  features 
were  tolerably  regular,  her  forehead  broad  and 
calm,  her  gray  eyes  keen  and  perceptive,  and  she 
had  abundant  hair  of  an  uncertain  brown  ;  but  forty 
other  girls  in  Bassett  might  have  been  described  in 
the  same  way ;  Celia' s  face  was  one  to  improve 
with  age  ;  its  strong  sense,  capacity  for  humor,  fine 
outlines  of  a  rugged  sort,  were  always  more  the  style 
of  fifty  than  fifteen,  and  what  she  said  of  herself 
was  true. 

She  had  been  asked  to  marry  an  old  farmer  with 
five  uproarious  boys,  a  man  notorious  in  East  Bas 
sett  for  his  stinginess  and  bad  temper,  and  she  had 
promptly  declined  the  offer.  Once  more  fate  had 
given  her  a  chance.  A  young  fellow  of  no  character, 
poor,  "  shiftless,"  and  given  to  cider  as  a  beverage, 
had  considered  it  a  good  idea  to  marry  some  one 


290        HOW  CELIA   CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

who  would  make  a  home  for  him  and  earn  his  liv 
ing.  Looking  about  him  for  a  proper  person  to 
fill  this  pleasant  situation,  he  pounced  on  Celia  — 
and  she  returned  the  attention  ! 

"  Marry  you  ?  I  wonder  you  Ve  got  the  sass  to  ask 
any  decent  girl  to  marry  ye,  Alfred  Hatch  !  What 
be  you  good  for,  anyway  ?  I  don't  know  what  under 
the  canopy  the  Lord  spares  you  for,  —  only  He 
doos  let  the  tares  grow  amongst  the  wheat,  Scripter 
says,  and  I  'm  free  to  suppose  He  knows  why,  but 
I  don't.  No,  sir  !  Ef  you  was  the  last  man  in  the 
livin'  universe  I  would  n't  tech  ye  with  the  tongs. 
If  you  'd  got  a  speck  of  grit  into  you,  you  'd  be 
ashamed  to  ask  a  woman  to  take  ye  in  and  support 
ye,  for  that 's  what  it  comes  to.  You  go  'long  !  I 
can  make  my  hands  save  my  head  so  long  as  I  hev 
the  use  of  'em,  and  I  have  n't  no  call  to  set  up  a 
private  poor-house !  " 

So  Alfred  Hatch  sneaked  off,  much  like  a  cur 
that  has  sought  to  share  the  kennel  of  a  mastiff, 
and  been  shortly  and  sharply  convinced  of  his  pre 
sumption. 

Here  ended  Celia's  "  chances,"  as  she  phrased 
it.  Young  men  were  few  in  Bassett ;  the  West  had 
drawn  them  away  with  its  subtle  attraction  of  un 
known  possibilities,  just  as  it  does  to-day,  and  Celia 
grew  old  in  the  service  of  those  established  matrons 
who  always  want  clothes  cut  over  for  their  children, 
carpet  rags  sewed,  quilts  quilted,  and  comfortables 
tacked.  She  was  industrious  and  frugal,  and  in 
time  laid  up  some  money  in  the  Dartford  Savings' 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HEE  MIND.         291 

Bank  ;  but  she  did  not,  like  many  spinsters,  invest 
her  hard-earned  dollars*  in  a  small  house.  Often 
she  was  urged  to  do  so,  but  her  reasons  were  good 
for  refusing. 

"  I  should  be  so  independent  ?  Well,  I  'm  as 
independent  now  as  the  law  allows.  I  've  got  two 
good  rooms  to  myself,  south  winders,  stairs  of  my 
own  and  outside  door,  and  some  privileges.  If  I 
had  a  house  there  'd  be  taxes,  and  insurance,  and 
cleanin'  off  snow  come  winter-time,  and  hoein' 
paths  ;  and  likely  enough  I  should  be  so  fur  left 
to  myself  that  I  should  set  up  a  garden,  and  make 
my  succotash  cost  a  dollar  a  pint  a-hirin'  of  a  man 
to  dig  it  up  and  hoe  it  down.  Like  enough,  too, 
I  should  be  gettin'  flower  seeds  and  things ;  I  'm 
kinder  fond  of  blows  in  the  time  of  'em.  My  old 
fish-geran'um  is  a  sight  of  comfort  to  me  as  't  is, 
and  there  would  be  a  bill  of  expense  again.  Then 
you  can't  noway  build  a  house  with  only  two  rooms 
in 't,  it  would  be  all  outside  ;  and  you  might  as 
well  try  to  heat  the  universe  with  a  cookin'-stove 
as  such  a  house.  Besides,  how  lonesome  I  should 
be  !  It 's  forlorn  enough  to  be  an  old  maid  anyway, 
but  to  have  it  sort  of  ground  into  you,  as  you  may 
say,  by  livin'  all  alone  in  a  hull  house,  that  ain't 
necessary  nor  agreeable.  Now,  if  I  'm  sick  or  sorry, 
I  can  just  step  downstairs  and  have  aunt  Nabby 
to  help  or  hearten  me.  Deacon  Everts  he  did  set 
to  work  one  time  to  persuade  me  to  buy  a  house  ; 
he  said  't  was  a  good  thing  to  be  able  to  give  some 
body  shelter  't  was  poorer  'n  I  was.  Says  1, 4  Deacon, 


292        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

I  've  worked  for  my  livin'  ever  sence  I  remember, 
and  I  know  there  's  no  use*  in  anybody  bein'  poorer 
than  I  be.  I  have  n't  no  call  to  take  any  seeh  in 
and  do  for  'em.  I  give  what  I  can  to  missions,  — 
home  ones,  —  and  I  'm  willin',  cheerfully  willin',  to 
do  a  day's  work  now  and  again  for  somebody  that 
is  strivin'  with  too  heavy  burdens ;  but  as  for  keep- 
in'  free  lodgin'  and  board,  I  sha'n't  do  it.'  '  Well, 
well,  well,'  says  he,  kinder  as  if  I  was  a  fractious 
young  one,  and  a-sawin'  his  fat  hand  up  and  down 
in  the  air  till  I  wanted  to  slap  him,  'just  as  you  'd 
ruther,  Celye,  —  just  as  you  'd  ruther.  I  don't 
mean  to  drive  ye  a  mite,  only,  as  Scripter  says, 
"  Provoke  one  another  to  love  and  good  works."  ' 

"  That  did  rile  me  !  Says  I :  «  Well,  you  've 
provoked  me  full  enough,  though  I  don't  know  as 
you  've  done  it  in  the  Scripter  sense ;  and  mabbe  I 
should  n't  have  got  so  fur  provoked  if  I  had  n't  have 
known  that  little  red  house  your  grandsir'  lived  and 
died  in  was  thro  wed  back  on  your  hands  just  now, 
and  advertised  for  sellin'.  I  see  the  "  Mounting 
County  Herald,"  Deacon  Everts.'  He  shut  up,  I 
tell  ye.  But  I  sha'n't  never  buy  no  house  so  long 
as  aunt  Nabby  lets  me  have  her  two  south  cham 
bers,  and  use  the  back  stairway  and  the  north  door 
continual." 

So  Miss  Celia  had  kept  on  in  her  way  till  now 
she  was  fifty,  and  to-day  making  over  old  clothes 
at  the  minister's.  The  minister's  wife  had,  as  we 
have  seen,  little  romance  or  wild  happiness  in  her 
life ;  it  is  not  often  the  portion  of  country  ministers' 


HOW  CELIA   CHANGED  HEE  MIND.        293 

wives ;  and,  moreover,  she  had  two  step-daughters 
who  were  girls  of  sixteen  and  twelve  when  she 
married  their  father.  Katy  was  married  herself 
now,  this  ten  years,  and  doing  her  hard  duty  by  an 
annual  baby  and  a  struggling  parish  in  Dakota ; 
but  Rosabel,  whose  fine  name  had  been  the  only 
legacy  her  dying  mother  left  the  day-old  child  she 
had  scarce  had  time  to  kiss  and  christen  before 
she  went  to  take  her  own  "  new  name  "  above,  was 
now  a  girl  of  twenty-two,  pretty,  headstrong,  and 
rebellious.  Nature  had  endowed  her  with  keen 
dark  eyes,  crisp  dark  curls,  a  long  chin,  and  a  very 
obstinate  mouth,  which  only  her  red  lips  and  white 
even  teeth  redeemed  from  ugliness ;  her  bright 
color  and  her  sense  of  fun  made  her  attractive  to 
young  men  wherever  she  encountered  one  of  that 
rare  species.  Just  now  she  was  engaged  in  a 
serious  flirtation  with  the  station-master  at  Bassett 
Centre,  —  an  impecunious  youth  of  no  special  inter 
est  to  other  people  and  quite  unable  to  maintain  a 
wife.  But  out  of  the  "  strong  necessity  of  loving," 
as  it  is  called,  and  the  want  of  young  society  or 
settled  occupation,  Rosa  Stearns  chose  to  fall  in 
love  with  Amos  Barker,  and  her  father  considered 
it  a  "  fall  "  indeed.  So,  with  the  natural  clumsi 
ness  of  a  man  and  a  father,  Parson  Stearns  set  him 
self  to  prevent  the  matter,  and  began  by  forbidding 
Rosabel  to  see  or  speak  or  write  to  the  youth  in 
question,  and  thereby  inspired  in  her  mind  a  burn 
ing  desire  to  do  all  three.  Up  to  this  time  she  had 
rather  languidly  amused  herself  by  mild  and  gentle 


294        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HEE  MIND. 

flirtations  with  him,  such  as  looking  at  him  side- 
wise  in  church  on  Sunday,  meeting  him  acciden 
tally  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  station,  for  she 
spent  at  least  half  her  time  at  her  aunt's  in  Bassett 
Centre,  and  had  even  taught  the  small  school  there 
during  the  last  six  months.  She  had  also  sent  him 
her  tintype,  and  his  own  was  secreted  in  her  bureau 
drawer.  He  had  invited  her  to  go  with  him  to 
two  sleigh-rides  and  one  sugaring-off,  and  always 
came  home  with  her  from  prayer-meeting  and  sing 
ing-school  ;  but  like  a  wise  youth  he  had  never  yet 
proposed  to  marry  her  in  due  form,  not  so  much 
because  he  was  wise  as  because  he  was  thoughtless 
and  lazy  ;  and  while  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  a 
bright  girl,  and  liked  to  dangle  after  the  prettiest 
one  in  Bassett,  and  the  minister's  daughter  too,  he 
did  not  love  work  well  enough  to  shoulder  the  re 
sponsibility  of  providing  for  another  those  material 
but  necessary  supplies  that  imply  labor  of  an  in 
cessant  sort. 

Rosabel,  in  her  first  inconsiderate  anger  at  her 
father's  command,  sat  down  and  wrote  a  note  to 
Amos,  eminently  calculated  to  call  out  his  sympathy 
with  her  own  wrath,  and  promptly  mailed  it  as  soon 
as  it  was  written.  It  ran  as  follows  :  — 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Pa  has  forbidden  me  to  speak 
to  you  any  more,  or  to  correspond  with  you.  I 
suppose  I  must  submit  so  far ;  but  he  did  not  say  I 
must  return  your  picture  [the  parson  had  not  an 
idea  that  she  possessed  that  precious  thing],  so  I 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.        295 

shall  keep  it  to  remind  me  of  the  pleasant  hours 
we  have  passed  together.    ( 

"  Fare  thee  well,  and  if  forever, 
Still  forever  fare  thee  well !  " 

Your  true  friend,         ROSABEL  STEARNS. 
P.  S.  —  I  think  pa  is  horrid  ! 

So  did  Amos  as  he  read  this  heart-rending  mis 
sive,  in  which  the  postscript,  according  to  the  estab 
lished  sneer  at  woman's  postscripts,  carried  the 
whole  force  of  the  epistle. 

Now  Amos  had  made  a  friend  of  Miss  Celia  by 
once  telegraphing  for  her  trunk,  which  she  had 
lost  on  her  way  home  from  the  only  journey  of  her 
life,  a  trip  to  Boston,  whither  she  had  gone,  on  the 
strength  of  the  one  share  of  B.  &  A.  R.  R.  stock 
she  held,  to  spend  the  allotted  three  days  granted 
to  stockholders  on  their  annual  excursions,  presum 
ably  to  attend  the  annual  meeting.  Amos  had  put 
himself  to  the  immense  trouble  of  sending  two  mes 
sages  for  Miss  Celia,  and  asked  her  nothing  for  the 
civility,  so  that  ever  after,  in  the  fashion  of  solitary 
women,  she  held  herself  deeply  in  his  debt.  He 
knew  that  she  was  at  work  for  Mrs.  Stearns  when 
he  received  Rosa's  epistle,  for  he  had  just  been 
over  to  Bassett  on  the  train  —  there  was  but  a  mile 
to  traverse  —  to  get  her  to  repair  his  Sunday  coat, 
and  not  found  her  at  home,  but  had  no  time  to 
look  her  up  at  the  parson's,  as  he  must  walk  back 
to  his  station.  Now  he  resolved  to  take  his  answer 
to  Rosa  to  Miss  Celia  in  the  evening,  and  so  be 


296        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

sure  that  his  abused  sweetheart  received  it,  for  he 
had  read  too  many  dime  novels  to  doubt  that  her 
tyrannic  father  would  intercept  their  letters,  and 
drive  them  both  to  madness  and  despair.  That 
well-meaning  but  rather  dull  divine  never  would 
have  thought  of  such  a  thing ;  he  was  a  puffy,  ab 
sent-minded,  fat  little  man,  with  a  weak,  squeaky 
voice,  and  a  sudden  temper  that  blazed  up  like  a 
bunch  of  dry  weeds  at  a  passing  spark,  and  went 
out  at  once  in  flattest  ashes.  It  had  been  Mrs. 
Stearns's  step-motherly  interference  that  drove  him 
into  his  harshness  to  Rosa.  She  meant  well  and 
he  meant  well,  but  we  all  know  what  good  inten 
tions  with  no  further  sequel  of  act  are  good  for, 
and  nobody  did  more  of  that  "  paving  "  than  these 
two  excellent  but  futile  people. 

Miss  Celia  was  ready  to  do  anything  for  Amos 
Barker,  and  she  considered  it  little  less  than  a 
mortal  sin  to  stand  in  the  way  of  any  marriage  that 
was  really  desired  by  two  parties.  That  Amos  was 
poor  did  not  daunt  her  at  all ;  she  had  the  curious 
faith  that  possesses  some  women,  that  any  man  can 
be  prosperous  if  he  has  the  will  so  to  be  ;  and  she 
had  a  high  opinion  of  this  youth,  based  on  his  civil 
ity  to  her.  It  may  be  said  of  men,  as  of  ele 
phants,  that  it  is  lucky  they  do  not  know  their  own 
power  ;  for  how  many  more  women  would  become 
their  worshipers  and  slaves  than  are  so  to-day  if 
they  knew  the  abject  gratitude  the  average  woman 
feels  for  the  least  attention,  the  smallest  kindness, 
the  faintest  expression  of  affection  or  good  will 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.         297 

We  are  all,  like  the  Syrophenician  woman,  glad 
and  ready  to  eat  of  the  crumbs  which  fall  from  the 
children's  table,  so  great  is  our  faith  —  in  men. 

Miss  Celia  took  the  note  in  her  big  basket  over 
to  the  minister's  the  very  next  day  after  that  on 
which  we  introduced  her  to  our  readers.  She  was 
perhaps  more  rejoiced  to  contravene  that  reverend 
gentleman's  orders  than  if  she  had  not  heard  his 
querulous  and  contemptuous  remark  about  her 
through  the  crack  of  the  door  on  the  previous  after 
noon  ;  and  it  was  with  a  sense  of  joy  that,  after  all, 
an  old  maid  could  do  something,  that  she  slipped 
the  envelope  into  Rosa's  hands,  and  told  her  to  put 
it  quickly  into  her  pocket,  the  very  first  moment 
she  found  herself  alone  with  that  young  woman. 

Many  a  hasty  word  had  Parson  Stearns  spoken 
in  the  suddenness  of  his  petulant  temper,  but  never 
one  that  bore  direr  fruit  than  that  when  he  called 
Celia  Barnes  "  that  old  maid." 

For  of  course  Amos  and  Rosabel  found  in  her  an 
ardent  friend.  They  had  the  instinct  of  distressed 
lovers  to  cajole  her  with  all  their  confidences,  ca 
resses,  and  eager  gratitude,  and  for  once  she  felt  her 
self  dear  and  of  importance.  Amos  consulted  her 
on  his  plans  for  the  future,  which  of  course  pointed 
westward,  where  he  had  a  brother  editing  and  own 
ing  a  newspaper.  This  brother  had  before  offered 
him  a  place  in  his  office,  but  Amos  had  liked  bet 
ter  the  easy  work  of  a  station-master  in  a  tiny  vil 
lage.  Now  his  ambition  was  aroused,  for  the  time 
at  least.  lie  wanted  to  make  a  home  for  Rosabel, 


298        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

but,  alack  !  he  had  not  one  cent  to  pay  their  united 
expenses  to  Peoria,  and  a  lion  stood  in  the  way. 
Here  again  Celia  stepped  in :  she  had  some  money 
laid  up  ;  she  would  lend  it  to  them. 

I  do  not  say  that  at  this  stage  she  had  no  misgiv 
ings,  but  even  these  were  set  at  rest  by  a  conversation 
she  had  with  Mrs.  Stearns  some  six  weeks  after 
the  day  on  which  Celia  had  so  fully  expressed  her 
scorn  of  spinsters.  She  was  there  again  to  tack  a 
comfortable  for  Rosabel's  bed,  and  bethought  her 
self  that  it  was  a  good  time  to  feel  her  way  a  little 
concerning  Mrs.  Stearns's  opinion  of  things. 

"  They  do  say,"  she  remarked,  stopping  to  snip 
off  her  thread  and  twist  the  end  of  it  through  her 
needle's  eye,  "  that  your  Rosy  don't  go  with  Amos 
Barker  no  more.  Is  that  so?'1 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Stearns,  with  a  half  sigh. 
"  Husband  was  rather  prompt  about  it ;  he  don't 
think  Amos  Barker  ever  '11  amount  to  much,  and 
he  thinks  his  people  are  not  just  what  they  should 
be.  You  know  his  father  never  was  very  much  of 
a  man,  and  his  grandfather  is  a  real  old  reprobate. 
Husband  says  he  never  knew  anything  but  crows 
come  out  of  a  crow's  nest,  and  so  he  told  Rosa  to 
break  acquaintance  with  him." 

"  Who  does  he  like  to  hev  come  to  see  her  ?  " 
asked  Celia,  with  a  grim  set  of  her  lips,  stabbing 
her  needle  fiercely  through  the  unoffending  calico. 

Mrs.  Stearns  laughed  rather  feebly.  "  I  don't 
think  he  has  anybody  on  his  mind,  Miss  Celia.  I 
don't  think  there  are  any  young  men  in  Bassett. 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.         299 

I  dare  say  Rosa  will  never  marry.  I  wish  she 
would,  for  she  is  n't  happy  here,  and  I  can't  do 
much  to  help  it,  with  all  my  cares." 

"  And  you  can't  feel  for  her  as  though  she  was 
your  own,  if  you  try  ever  so,"  confidently  asserted 
Celia. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  I  try  to  do  my  duty  by  her, 
and  I  am  sorry  for  her ;  but  I  know  all  the  time 
an  own  mother  would  understand  her  better  and 
make  it  easier  for  her.  Mr.  Stearns  is  peculiar, 
and  men  don't  know  just  how  to  manage  girls." 

It  was  a  cautious  admission,  but  Miss  Celia  had 
sharp  eyes,  and  knew  very  well  that  Rosabel  neither 
loved  nor  respected  her  father,  and  that  they  were 
now  on  terms  of  real  if  unavowed  hostility. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  don'  know  but  you  will 
have  to  have  one  of  them  onpleasant  creturs,  an  old 
maid,  in  your  fam'ly.  I  declare  for 't,  I  'd  hold  a 
Thanksgiving  Day  all  to  myself  ef  I  'd  escaped  that 
marcy." 

"  You  may  not  always  think  so,  Celia." 

"  I  don't  know  what  '11  change  me.  'T  will  be 
something  I  don't  look  forrard  to  now,"  answered 
Celia  obstinately. 

Mrs.  Stearns  sighed.  "  I  hope  Rosa  will  do  no 
thing  worse  than  to  live  unmarried,"  she  said ;  but 
she  could  not  help  wishing  silently  that  some  wor 
thy  man  would  carry  the  perverse  and  annoying 
girl  out  of  the  parsonage  for  good. 

After  this  Celia  felt  a  certain  freedom  to  help 
Rosabel ;  she  encouraged  the  lovers  to  meet  at  her 


300        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

house,  helped  plan  their  elopement,  sewed  for  the 
girl,  and  at  last  went  with  them  as  far  as  Brimfield 
when  they  stole  away  one  evening,  saw  them  safely 
married  at  the  Methodist  parsonage  there,  and  bid 
ding  them  good-speed,  returned  to  Bassett  Centre 
on  the  midnight  train,  and  walked  over  to  her  own 
dwelling  in  the  full  moonshine  of  the  October 
night,  quite  fearless  and  entirely  exultant. 

But  she  was  not  to  come  off  unscathed.  There 
was  a  scene  of  wild  commotion  at  the  parsonage 
next  day,  when  Rosa's  letter,  modeled  on  that  of 
the  last  novel  heroine  she  had  become  acquainted 
with,  was  found  on  her  bureau,  as  per  novel  afore 
said. 

With  her  natural  thoughtlessness  she  assured  her 
parents  that  she  "  fled  not  uncompanioned,"  that 
her  "  kind  and  all  but  maternal  friend,  Miss  Celia 
Barnes,  would  accompany  her  to  the  altar,  and  give 
her  support  and  her  countenance  to  the  solemn  cere 
mony  that  should  make  Rosabel  Stearns  the  blessed 
wife  of  Amos  Barker !  " 

It  was  all  the  minister  could  do  not  to  swear  as 
he  read  this  astounding  letter.  His  flabby  face 
grew  purple  ;  his  fat,  sallow  hands  shook  with  rage  ; 
he  dared  not  speak,  he  only  sputtered,  for  he  knew 
that  profane  and  unbecoming  words  would  surely 
leap  from  his  tongue  if  he  set  it  free ;  but  he  must 
—  he  really  must —  do  or  say  something  !  So  he 
clapped  on  his  old  hat,  and  with  coat  tails  flying  in 
the  breeze,  and  rage  in  every  step,  set  out  to  find 
Celia  Barnes ;  and  find  her  he  did. 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.         301 

It  would  be  unpleasant,  and  it  is  needless,  to 
depict  this  encounter ;  language  both  unjust  and 
unsavory  smote  the  air  and  reverberated  along 
the  highway,  for  he  met  the  spinster  on  her  road 
to  an  engagement  at  Deacon  Stiles's.  Suffice  it 
to  say  that  both  freed  their  minds  with  great  en 
largement  of  opinion,  and  the  parson  wound  up 
with,  — 

"  And  I  never  want  to  see  you  again  inside  of 
my  house,  you  confounded  old  maid ! " 

"  There  !  that 's  it !  "  retorted  Celia.  "  Ef  I  was 
n't  an  old  maid,  you  would  n't  no  more  have  darst 
to  'a'  talked  to  me  this  way  than  nothin'.  Ef  I  'd 
had  a  man  to  stand  up  to  ye  you  'd  have  been 
dumber  'n  Balaam's  ass  a  great  sight,  —  afore  it 
seen  the  angel,  I  mean.  I  swow  to  man,  I  b'lieve 
I  'd  marry  a  hitchin'-post  if  't  was  big  enough  to 
trounce  ye.  You  great  lummox,  if  I  could  knock 
ye  over  you  would  n't  peep  nor  mutter  agin,  if  I  be 
a  woman ! " 

And  with  a  burst  of  furious  tears  that  asserted 
her  womanhood  Miss  Celia  went  her  way.  Her 
hands  were  clinched  under  her  blanket-shawl,  her 
eyes  red  with  angry  rain,  and  as  she  walked  on  she 
soliloquized  aloud  :  — 

"  I  declare  for  't,  I  b'lieve  I  'd  marry  the  Old  Boy 
himself  if  he  'd  ask  me.  I  'm  sicker  'n  ever  of  bein' 
an  old  maid  I  " 

"  Be  ye  ?  "  queried  a  voice  at  her  elbow.  "  P'r'aps, 
then,  you  might  hear  to  me  if  I  was  to  speak  my 
mind,  Celye." 


302        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HEE  MIND. 

Celia  jumped.  As  she  said  afterward,  "  I  vum 
I  thought  't  was  the  Enemy,  for  certain ;  and  to 
think  't  was  only  Deacon  Everts  !  " 

"  Mercy  me !  "  she  said  now ;  "  is  't  you,  dea 
con  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  me ;  and  I  think  't  is  a  real  provi 
dence  I  come  up  behind  ye  just  in  the  nick  of  time. 
I  Ve  sold  my  farm  only  last  week,  and  I  've  come 
to  live  on  the  street  in  that  old  red  house  of  grand- 
sir's,  that  you  mistrusted  once  I  wanted  you  to  buy. 
I  'm  real  lonesome  sence  I  lost  my  partner  "  (he 
meant  his  wife),  "  and  I  Ve  been  a-hangin'  on  by 
the  edges  the  past  two  year ;  hired  help  is  worse 
than  nothing  onto  a  farm,  and  hard  to  get  at  that ; 
so  I  sold  out,  and  I  'm  a-moviii'  yet,  but  the  old 
house  looks  forlorn  enough,  and  I  was  intendin'  to 
look  about  for  a  second ;  so  if  you  '11  have  me, 
Celye,  here  I  be." 

Celia  looked  at  him  sharply ;  he  was  an  apple- 
faced  little  man,  with  shrewd,  twinkling  eyes,  a 
hard,  dull  red  still  lingering  on  his  round  cheeks  in 
spite  of  the  deep  wrinkles  about  his  pursed-up  lips 
and  around  his  eyelids  ;  his  mouth  gave  him  a  con 
sequential  and  self-important  air,  to  which  the  short 
stubbly  hair,  brushed  up  "  like  a  blaze  "  above  his 
forehead,  added ;  and  his  old  blue  coat  with  brass 
buttons,  his  homespun  trousers,  the  old-fashioned 
aspect  of  his  unbleached  cotton  shirt,  all  attested 
his  frugality.  Indeed,  everybody  knew  that  Deacon 
Everts  was  "  near,"  and  also  that  he  had  plenty  of 
money,  that  is  to  say,  far  more  than  he  could 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HEE  MIND.         303 

spend.  He  had  no  children,  no  near  relations ;  his 
first  wife  had  died  two  years  since,  after  long  in- 
validisrn,  and  all  her  relations  had  moved  far  west. 
All  this  Celia  knew  and  now  recalled ;  her  wrath 
against  Parson  Stearns  was  yet  fresh  and  vivid  ; 
she  remembered  that  Simeon  Everts  was  senior 
deacon  of  the  church,  and  had  it  in  his  power  to 
make  the  minister  extremely  uncomfortable  if  he 
chose.  I  have  never  said  Celia  was  a  very  good 
woman  ;  her  religion  was  of  the  dormant  type  not 
uncommon  nowadays ;  she  kept  up  its  observances 
properly,  and  said  her  prayers  every  day,  bestowed 
a  part  of  her  savings  on  each  church  collection, 
and  was  rated  as  a  church-member  "  in  good  and 
regular  standing ; "  but  the  vital  transforming 
power  of  that  Christianity  which  means  to  "  love 
the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  mind, 
and  soul,  and  strength,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thy 
self,"  had  no  more  entered  into  her  soul  than  it 
had  into  Deacon  E verts' s  ;  and  while  she  would 
have  honestly  admitted  that  revenge  was  a  very 
wrong  sentiment,  and  entirely  improper  for  any 
other  person  to  cherish,  she  felt  that  she  did  well 
to  be  angry  with  Parson  Stearns,  and  had  a  perfect 
right  to  "  pay  him  off  "  in  any  way  she  could. 

Now  here  was  her  opportunity.  If  she  said 
"  Yes  "  to  Deacon  Everts,  he  would  no  doubt  take 
her  part.  Her  objections  to  housekeeping  were 
set  aside  by  the  fact  that  the  house-owner  himself 
would  have  to  do  those  heavy  labors  about  the  house 
which  she  must  otherwise  have  hired  a  man  to  do ; 


304        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

and  the  cooking  and  the  indoor  work  for  two  peo 
ple  could  not  be  so  hard  as  to  sew  from  house  to 
house  for  her  daily  bread.  In  short,  her  mind  was 
slowly  turning  favorably  toward  this  sudden  pro 
ject,  but  she  did  not  want  this  wooer  to  be  too  sure ; 
so  she  said :  "  W-e-11,  't  is  a  life  sentence,  as  you 
may  say,  deacon,  and  I  want  to  think  on  't  a  spell. 
Let  'a  see,  —  to-day 's  Tuesday ;  1 11  let  ye  know 
Thursday  night,  after  prayer-meetin'." 

"  Well,"  answered  the  deacon. 

Blessed  Yankee  monosyllable  that  means  so  much 
and  so  little ;  that  has  such  shades  of  phrase  and 
intention  in  its  myriad  inflections  ;  that  is  "  yes," 
or  "  no,"  or  "  perhaps,"  just  as  you  accent  it ;  that 
is  at  once  preface  and  peroration,  evasion  and  defi 
nition  !  What  would  all  New  England  speech  be 
without  "  well "  ?  Even  as  salt  without  any  savor, 
or  pepper  with  no  pungency. 

Now  it  meant  to  Miss  Celia  assent  to  her  propo 
sition  ;  and  in  accordance  the  deacon  escorted  her 
home  from  meeting  Thursday  night,  and  received 
for  reward  a  consenting  answer.  This  was  no  love 
affair,  but  a  matter  of  mere  business.  Deacon 
Everts  needed  a  housekeeper,  and  did  not  want  to 
pay  out  wages  for  one ;  and  Miss  Celia's  position 
she  expressed  herself  as  she  put  out  her  tallow  can 
dle  on  that  memorable  night,  and  breathed  out  on 
the  darkness  the  audible  aspiration,  "  Thank  good 
ness,  I  sha'n't  hev  to  die  an  old  maid  ! " 

There  was  no  touch  of  sanctifying  love  or  con 
soling  affection,  or  even  friendly  comradeship,  in 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HEE  MIND.         305 

this  arrangement ;  it  was  as  truly  a  marriage  de 
convenance  as  was  ever  contracted  in  Paris  itself, 
and  when  the  wedding  day  canae,  a  short  month 
afterward,  the  sourest  aspect  of  November  skies 
threatening  a  drenching  pour,  the  dead  and  sodden 
leaves  that  strewed  the  earth,  the  wailing  northeast 
wind,  even  the  draggled  and  bony  old  horse  behind 
which  they  jogged  over  to  Bassett  Centre,  seemed 
fit  accompaniments  to  the  degraded  ceremony  per 
formed  by  a  justice  of  the  peace,  who  concluded 
this  merely  legal  compact,  for  Miss  Celia  stoutly 
refused  to  be  married  by  Parson  Stearns ;  she  would 
not  be  accessory  to  putting  one  dollar  in  his  pocket, 
even  as  her  own  wedding  fee.  So  she  went  home 
to  the  little  red  house  on  Bassett  Street,  and  begun 
her  married  life  by  scrubbing  the  dust  and  dirt  of 
years  from  the  kitchen  table,  making  biscuit  for 
tea,  washing  up  the  dishes,  and  at  last  falling 
asleep  during  the  deacon's  long  nasal  prayer, 
wherein  he  wandered  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and 
prayed  fervently  for  the  heathen,  piteously  un 
conscious  that  he  was  little  better  than  a  heathen 
himself. 

It  did  not  take  many  weeks  to  discover  to  Celia 
what  is  meant  by  "  the  curse  of  a  granted  prayer." 
She  could  not  at  first  accept  the  situation  at  all ; 
she  was  accustomed  to  enough  food,  if  it  was  plain 
and  simple,  when  she  herself  provided  it ;  but  now 
it  was  hard  to  get  such  viands  as  would  satisfy  a 
healthy  appetite. 

"  You  Ve  used  a  sight  of  pork,  Celye,"  the  dea- 


306        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

con  would  remonstrate.  "  My  first  never  cooked 
half  what  you  do.  We  shall  come  to  want  certain, 
if  you  're  so  free-handed." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Everts,  there  was  n't  a  mite  left 
to  set  by.  We  eat  it  all,  and  I  did  n't  have  no 
more  'n  I  wanted,  if  you  did." 

"  We  must  mortify  the  flesh,  Celye.  It 's  hull- 
some  to  get  up  from  your  victuals  hungry.  Ye 
know  what  Scripter  says,  4  Jeshuruii  waxed  fat  an' 
kicked.' " 

"  Well,  I  ain't  Jeshurun,  but  I  expect  I  shall  be 
more  likely  to  kick  if  I  don't  have  enough  to  eat, 
when  it 's  only  pork  'n'  potatoes." 

"  My  first  used  to  say  them  was  the  best,  for 
steady  victuals,  of  anything,  and  she  never  used  but 
two  codfish  and  two  quarts  of  m'lasses  the  year 
round ;  and  as  for  butter,  she  was  real  sparin' ; 
she  'd  fry  our  bread  along  with  the  salt  pork,  and 
't  was  just  as  good." 

"  Look  here !  "  snapped  Celia.  "  I  don't  want 
to  hear  no  more  about  your  '  first.'  I  'm  ready  to 
say  I  wish  't  she  'd  ha'  been  your  last  too." 

"  Well,  well,  well !  this  is  onseemly  contention, 
Celye,"  sputtered  the  alarmed  deacon.  "  Le'  's 
dwell  together  in  unity  so  fur  as  we  can,  Mis'  Ev 
erts.  I  have  n't  no  intention  to  starve  ye,  none 
whatever.  I  only  want  to  be  keerful,  so  as  we 
sha'n't  have  to  fetch  up  in  the  poor-us." 

"  No  need  to  have  a  poor-house  to  home,"  mut 
tered  Celia. 

But  this  is  only  a  mild  specimen  of  poor  Celia's 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.         307 

life  as  a  married  woman.  She  did  not  find  the 
honor  and  glory  of  "  Mrs."  before  her  name  a  com 
pensation  for  the  thousand  evils  that  she  "knew 
not  of  "  when  she  fled  to  them  as  a  desirable  change 
from  her  single  blessedness.  Deacon  Everts  en 
tirely  refused  to  enter  into  any  of  her  devices 
against  Parson  Stearns ;  he  did  not  care  a  penny 
about  Celia's  wrongs,  and  he  knew  very  well  that 
no  other  man  than  dreamy,  unpractical  Mr.  Stearns, 
who  eked  out  his  minute  pittance  by  writing  school- 
books  of  a  primary  sort,  would  put  up  with  four 
hundred  dollars  a  year  from  his  parish ;  yet  that 
was  all  Bassett  people  would  pay.  If  they  must 
have  the  gospel,  they  must  have  it  at  the  lowest 
living  rates,  and  everybody  would  not  assent  to 
that. 

So  Celia  found  her  revenge  no  more  feasible 
after  her  marriage  than  before,  and,  gradually 
absorbed  in  her  own  wrongs  and  sufferings,  her 
desire  to  reward  Mr.  Stearns  in  kind  for  his  treat 
ment  of  her  vanished ;  she  thought  less  of  his  futile 
wrath  and  more  of  her  present  distresses  every 
day. 

For  Celia,  like  everybody  who  profanes  the  sac 
rament  of  marriage,  was  beginning  to  suffer  the 
consequences  of  her  misstep.  As  her  husband's 
mean,  querulous,  loveless  character  unveiled  itself 
in  the  terrible  intimacy  of  constant  and  inevitable 
companionship,  she  began  to  look  woefully  back  to 
the  freedom  and  peace  of  her  maiden  days.  She 
learned  that  a  husband  is  by  no  means  his  wife's 


308        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

defender  always,  not  even  against  reviling  tongues. 
It  did  not  suit  Deacon  Everts  to  quarrel  with  any 
one,  whatever  they  said  to  him,  or  of  him  and  his ; 
he   "  did  n't  want  no  enemies,"   and  Celia  bitterly 
felt  that  she  must  fight  her  own  battles ;  she  had 
not  even  an  ally  in  her  husband.     She  became  not 
only  defiant,  but  also  depressed ;  the  consciousness 
of  a  vital  and  life-long  mistake  is  not  productive  of 
cheer  or  content ;  and  now,  admitted  into  the  free 
masonry  of  married  women,  she  discovered  how  few 
among  them  were  more  than   household  drudges, 
the  servants  of  their  families,  worked  to  the  verge 
of  exhaustion,  and  neither  thanked  nor  rewarded 
for  their  pains.     She  saw  here  a  woman  whose  chil 
dren  were  careless  of,  and  ungrateful  to  her,  and 
her  husband  coldly  indifferent ;  there  was  one  on 
whom  the  man  she   had  married  wreaked  all  his 
fiendish  temper  in  daily  small  injuries,  little  vexa 
tious  acts,  petty  tyrannies,  a  "  street-angel,  house- 
devil"   of  a  man,   of  all  sorts  the  most  hateful. 
There  were  many  whose  lives  had  no  other  outlook 
than  hard  work  until  the  end  should  come,  who  rose 
up  to  labor  and  lay  down  in  sleepless  exhaustion, 
and  some  whose  days  were    a  constant   terror  to 
them  from  the  intemperate  brutes  to  whom  they 
had  intrusted   their  happiness,    and  indeed   their 
whole  existence. 

It  was  no  worse  with  Celia  than  with  most  of  her 
sex  in  Bassett ;  here  and  there,  there  were  of  course 
exceptions,  but  so  rare  as  to  be  shining  examples 
and  objects  of  envy.  Then,  too,  after  two  years, 


HOW  CELIA   CHANGED  HER  MIND.         309 

there  came  forlorn  accounts  of  poor  Rosabel's  situa 
tion  at  the  west.  Amos  Barker  had  done  his  best 
at  first  to  make  his  wife  comfortable,  but  change  of 
place  or  new  motives  do  not  at  once,  if  ever,  trans 
form  an  indolent  man  into  an  active  and  efficient 
one.  He  found  work  in  his  brother's  office,  but  it 
was  the  hard  work  of  collecting  bills  all  about  the 
country  ;  the  roads  were  bad,  the  weather  as  fluc 
tuating  as  weather  always  is,  the  climate  did  not 
agree  with  him,  and  he  got  woefully  tired  of  driving 
about  from  dawn  till  after  dark,  to  dun  unwilling 
debtors.  Rosa  had  chills  and  fever  and  babies  with 
persistent  alacrity ;  she  had  indeed  enough  to  eat, 
with  no  appetite,  and  a  house,  with  no  strength  to 
keep  it.  She  grew  untidy,  listless,  hysterical ;  and 
her  father,  getting  worried  by  her  despondent  and 
infrequent  letters,  actually  so  far  roused  himself 
as  to  sell  his  horse,  and  with  this  sacrificial  money 
betook  himself  to  Mound  Village,  where  he  found 
Rosabel  with  two  babies  in  her  arms,  dust  an  inch 
deep  on  all  her  possessions,  nothing  but  pork,  pota 
toes,  and  corn  bread  in  the  pantry,  and  a  slatternly 
n egress  washing  some  clothes  in  a  kitchen  that  made 
the  parson  shudder. 

The  little  man's  heart  was  bigger  than  his  soul. 
He  put  his  arms  about  Rosa  and  the  dingy  babies, 
and  forgave  her  all ;  but  he  had  to  say,  even  while 
he  held  them  closely  and  fondly  to  his  breast,  "  Oh, 
Rosy,  I  told  you  what  would  happen  if  you  married 
that  fellow." 

Of  course  Rosa  resented  the  speech,  for,  after  all, 


310        HOW  CELIA   CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

she  had  loved  Amos ;  perhaps  could  love  him  still 
if  the  poverty  and  malaria  and  babies  could  have 
all  been  eliminated  from  her  daily  life. 

Fortunately  the  parson's  horse  had  sold  well,  for 
it  was  strong  and  young,  and  the  rack  of  venerable 
bones  with  which  he  replaced  it  was  bought  very 
cheap  at  a  farmer's  auction,  so  he  had  money 
enough  to  carry  Rosa  and  the  two  children  home 
to  Bassett,  where  two  months  after  she  added  an 
other  feeble,  howling  cipher  to  the  miserable  sum 
of  humanity. 

Miss  —  no,  Mrs.  —  Celia's  conscience  stung  her 
to  the  quick  when  she  encountered  this  ghastly 
wreck  of  pretty  Rosabel  Stearns,  now  called  Mrs. 
Barker.  She  remembered  with  deep  regret  how 
she  had  given  aid  and  comfort  to  the  girl  who  had 
defied  and  disobeyed  parental  counsel  and  author 
ity,  and  so  brought  on  herself  all  this  misery.  She 
fancied  that  Parson  Stearns  glared  at  her  with  eyes 
of  bitter  accusation  and  reproach,  and  not  improb 
ably  he  did,  for  beside  his  pity  and  affection  for 
his  daughter,  it  was  no  slight  burden  to  take  into 
his  house  a  feeble  woman  with  two  children  help 
less  as  babies,  and  to  look  forward  to  the  expense 
and  anxiety  of  another  soon  to  come.  And  Mrs. 
Stearns  had  never  loved  Rosa  well  enough  to  be 
complacent  at  this  addition  to  her  family  cares.  She 
gave  the  parson  no  sympathy.  It  would  have  been 
her  way  to  let  Rosabel  lie  on  the  bed  she  had  made, 
and  die  there  if  need  be.  But  the  poor  worn-out 
creature  died  at  home,  after  all,  and  the  third  baby 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.        311 

lay  on  its  mother's  breast  in  her  coffin :   they  had 
gone  together. 

Celia  felt  almost  like  a  murderess  when  she  heard 
that  Rosabel  Barker  was  dead.  She  did  not  reflect 
that  in  all  human  probability  the  girl  would  have 
married  Amos  if  she,  Celia,  had  refused  to  help  or 
encourage  her.  It  began  to  be  an  importunate 
question  in  our  friend's  mind  whether  she  herself 
had  not  made  a  mistake  too ;  whether  the  phrase 
"  single  blessedness "  was  not  an  expression  of  a 
vital  truth  rather  than  a  scoff.  Celia  was  changing 
her  mind  no  doubt,  surely  if  slowly. 

Meantime  Deacon  Everts  did  not  find  all  the  sat 
isfaction  with  his  "  second "  that  he  had  antici 
pated.  Celia  had  a  will  of  her  own,  quite  undisci 
plined,  and  it  was  too  often  asserted  to  suit  her  lord 
and  master.  Secretly  he  planned  devices  to  cir 
cumvent  her  purposes,  and  sometimes  succeeded. 
In  prayer-meeting  and  in  Sunday-school  the  idea 
haunted  him ;  his  malice  lay  down  and  rose  up  with 
him.  Even  when  he  propounded  to  his  Bible  class 
the  important  question,  "  How  fur  be  the  heathen 
ree-sponsible  for  what  they  dun  know  ?  "  and  asked  ] 
them  "  to  ponder  on  't  through  the  comin'  week," 
he  chuckled  inwardly  at  the  thought  that  Celia 
could  not  evade  her  responsibility  ;  she  knew 
enough,  and  would  be  judged  accordingly :  the  dea 
con  was  not  a  merciful  man. 

At  last   he   hit   upon  that   great   legal   engine      / 
whereby  men  do  inflict  the  last  deadly  kick  upon 
their  wives :  he  would  remodel  his  will.      Yes,  he 


312        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED   HER   MIND. 

would  leave  those  gathered  thousands  to  foreign  mis 
sions  ;  he  would  leave  behind  him  the  indisputable 
testimony  and  taunt  that  he  considered  the  wife  of 
his  bosom  less  than  the  savages  and  heathen  afar 
off.  He  forgot  conveniently  that  the  man  "  who 
provideth  not  for  his  own  household  hath  denied 
the  faith,  and  is  worse  than  an  infidel."  And  in 
his  delight  of  revenge  he  also  forgot  that  the  law 
of  the  land  provides  for  a  man's  wife  and  children 
in  spite  of  his  wicked  will.  Nor  did  he  remember 
that  his  life-insurance  policy  for  five  thousand 
dollars  was  made  out  in  his  wife's  name,  simply  as 
his  wife,  her  own  name  not  being  specified.  He 
had  paid  the  premium  always  from  his  "  first's " 
small  annual  income,  and  agreed  that  it  should  be 
written  for  her  benefit,  but  he  supposed  that  at  her 
death  it  had  reverted  to  him.  He  forgot  that  he 
still  had  a  wife  when  he  mentioned  that  policy  in 
his  assets  recorded  in  the  will,  and  to  save  money 
he  drew  that  evil  document  up  himself,  and  had  it 
signed  down  at  "  the  store  "  by  three  witnesses. 

Celia  had  borne  her  self-imposed  yoke  for  four 
years,  when  it  was  suddenly  broken.  A  late  crop 
of  grass  was  to  be  mowed  in  mid-July  on  the 
meadow  which  appertained  to  the  old  house,  and 
the  deacon,  now  some  seventy  years  old,  to  save 
hiring  help,  determined  to  do  it  by  himself.  The 
grass  was  heavy  and  over-ripe,  the  day  extremely 
hot  and  breathless,  and  the  grim  Mower  of  Man 
trod  side  by  side  with  Simeon  Everts,  and  laid  him 
too,  all  along  by  the  rough  heads  of  timothy  and 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HEE  MIND.         313 

the  purpled  feather-tops  of  the  blue-grass.  He  did 
not  come  home  at  noon  or  at  night,  and  when  Celia 
went  down  to  the  lot  to  caH  him  he  heard  no  sum 
mons  of  hers ;  he  had  answered  a  call  far  more 
imperative  and  final. 

After  the  funeral  Celia  found  his  will  pushed 
back  in  the  deep  drawer  of  an  old  secretary,  where 
he  kept  his  one  quill  pen,  a  bottle  of  dried  ink,  a 
lump  of  chalk,  some  rat-poison,  and  various  other 
odds  and  ends. 

She  was  indignant  enough  at  its  tenor ;  but  it 
was  easily  broken,  and  she  not  only  had  her 
"  thirds,"  but  the  life  policy  reverted  to  her  also, 
as  it  was  made  out  to  Simeon  Everts's  wife,  and 
surely  she  had  occupied  that  position  for  four 
wretched  years.  Then,  also,  she  had  a  right  to  her 
support  for  one  year  out  of  the  estate,  and  the  use 
of  the  house  for  that  time. 

Oh,  how  sweet  was  her  freedom !  With  her 
characteristic  honesty  she  refused  to  put  on  mourn 
ing,  and  even  went  to  the  funeral  in  her  usual  gray 
Sunday  gown  and  bonnet.  "  I  won't  lie,  anyhow !  " 
she  answered  to  Mrs.  Stiles's  remonstrance.  "  I 
ain't  a  mite  sorry  nor  mournful.  I  could  ha'  wished 
he  'd  had  time  to  repent  of  his  sins,  but  sence  the 
Lord  saw  fit  to  cut  him  short,  I  don't  feel  to  rebel 
ag'inst  it.  I  wish  't  I  'd  never  married  him,  that 's 
all ! " 

"But,  Celye,  you  got  a  good  livin'." 

"  I  earned  it." 

"  And  he  's  left  ye  with  means  too." 


314        HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND. 

"  He  done  his  best  not  to.  I  don't  owe  him 
nothing  for  that ;  and  I  earned  that  too, — the  hull 
on  't.  It 's  poor  pay  for  what  I  've  lived  through  ; 
and  I  'm  a'most  a  mind  to  call  it  the  wages  of  sin, 
for  I  done  wrong,  ondeniably  wrong,  in  marryin' 
of  him ;  but  the  Lord  knows  I  've  repented,  and 
said  my  lesson,  if  I  did  get  it  by  the  hardest." 

Yet  all  Basse tt  opened  eyes  and  mouth  both  when 
on  the  next  Thanksgiving  Day  Celia  invited  every 
old  maid  in  town  —  seven  all  told  —  to  take  dinner 
with  her.  Never  before  had  she  celebrated  this 
old  New  England  day  of  solemn  revel.  A  woman 
living  in  two  small  rooms  could  not  "keep  the 
feast,"  and  rarely  had  she  been  asked  to  any  fam 
ily  conclave.  We  Yankees  are  conservative  at 
Thanksgiving  if  nowhere  else,  and  like  to  gather 
our  own  people  only  about  the  family  hearth ;  so 
Celia  had  but  once  or  twice  shared  the  turkeys  of 
her  more  fortunate  neighbors. 

Now  she  called  in  Nabby  Hyde  and  Sarah  Gil- 
lett,  Ann  Smith,  Celestia  Potter,  Delia  Hills,  So- 
phronia  Ann  Jenkins  and  her  sister  Adelia  Ann, 
ancient  twins,  who  lived  together  on  next  to  no 
thing,  and  were  happy. 

Celia  bloomed  at  the  head  of  the  board,  not  with 
beauty,  but  with  gratification.  "  Well,"  she  said, 
as  soon  as  they  were  seated,  "  I  sent  for  ye  all  to 
come  because  I  wanted  to  have  a  good  time,  for  one 
thing,  and  because  it  seems  as  though  I  'd  ought  to 
take  back  all  the  sassy  and  disagreeable  things  I 
*ised  to  be  forever  flingin'  at  old  maids.  '  I  spoke 


HOW  CELIA  CHANGED  HER  MIND.        315 

in  my  haste,'  as  Scripter  says,  and  also  in  my  igno 
rance,  I  'm  free  to  confess.  I  feel  as  though  I 
could  keep  Thanksgivin'  to-day  with  my  hull  soul. 
I  'm  so  thankful  to  be  an  old  maid  ag'in  !  " 

"I  thought  you  was  a  widder,"  snapped  Sally 
Gillett. 

Celia  flung  a  glance  of  wrath  at  her,  but  scorned 
to  reply. 

"  And  I  'm  thankful  too  that  I  'm  spared  to  help 
ondo  somethin'  done  in  that  ignorance.  I  've  got 
means,  and,  as  I  Ve  said  before,  I  earned  'em.  I 
don't  feel  noway  obleeged  to  him  for  'em ;  he 
did  n't  mean  it.  But  now  I  can  I  'm  goin'  to 
adopt  Rosy  Barker's  two  children,  and  fetch  'em 
up  to  be  dyed-in-the-wool  old  maids  ;  and  every  year, 
so  long  as  I  live,  I  'm  goin'  to  keep  an  old  maids' 
Thanksgivin'  for  a  kind  of  a  burnt-offering,  sech  as 
the  Bible  tells  about,  for  I  've  changed  my  mind 
clear  down  to  the  bottom,  and  I  go  the  hull  figure 
with  the  'postle  Paul  when  he  speaks  about  the 
onmarried, '  It  is  better  if  she  so  abide.'  Now  let 's 
go  to  work  at  the  victuals." 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY 
MOUSE. 

"  WELL,  Mis'  Phelps,  I  'm  reelly  a-goin'  to  Glover 
to  see  Melindy  at  last.  I  be,  pos'tive.  Don't  seem 
as  though  it  could  be  true,  't  is  so  long  sence  I  sot 
eyes  on  her ;  and  I  've  lotted  on  it  so  much,  and 
tried  so  often  and  failed  up  on 't,  that  I  can't  hardly 
believe  in  't  now  it 's  comin'  to  pass.  But  I  be  a-goin' 
now,  sure  as  you  live,  Providence  permittih'." 

The  speaker  was  a  small,  thin  old  woman,  alert 
and  active  as  a  chickadee,  with  a  sharp  twitter  in 
her  voice,  reminding  one  still  more  of  that  small 
black  and  gray  bird  that  cheers  us  with  his  gay 
defiance  of  winter,  though  he  utter  it  from  a  fir 
bough  bent  to  the  ground  with  heavy  snows.  Her 
dark  gray  hair  was  drawn  into  a  tight  knot  at  the 
back  of  her  head ;  her  tear-worn  eyes  shone  with  a 
pathetic  sort  of  lustre,  as  if  joy  were  stranger  to 
them  than  grief ;  her  thin  lips  wore  a  doubtful 
smile,  but  still  the  traces  of  a  former  dimple,  under 
that  smiling  influence,  creased  itself  in  one  lined 
and  sallow  cheek.  You  saw  at  a  glance  that  she 
had  worked  hard  always  ;  her  small  hands  were 
knotted  at  the  joints  and  callous  in  the  palms ;  her 
shoulders  were  slightly  bent.  And  you  saw,  too, 
that  poverty  had  enforced  her  labor,  for  her  dress, 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    317 

though  scrupulously  neat,  and  shaped  with  a  certain 
shy  deference  to  the  fashion  of  the  day,  was  of  poor 
material  and  scant  draperies. 

Amanda  Hart  was  really  a  remarkable  woman, 
\  but  she  did  not  know  it.     Her  life  had  been  one 
long  struggle  with  poverty  and  illness  in  her  fam 
ily,  to  whom  she   was  utterly  devoted.     She  had 
1  earned  her  living  in  one  way  or  another  as  long  as 
/  she  could  remember.     Her  mother  died  when  she 
I  was  a  mere  child,   and  her  father  was  always  a 
"shiftless,"  miserable  creature,  in  his  later  years 
the  prey  of  a  slow  yet  fatal  disease,  dying  by  inches 
of   torture   that   defied   doctors   and  wrung   poor 
Amanda's  heart  with  helpless  sympathy. 

All  these  years  she  not  only  nursed,  but  sup 
ported  him  ;  scrubbed,  sewed,  washed,  —  did  any 
thing  that  brought  in  a  little  money ;  for  there  were 
doctors'  bills  to  pay,  besides  the  very  necessities  of 
life  to  be  obtained.  Her  one  comfort  was  her  sister 
Melinda,  a  child  ten  years  younger  than  Amanda, 
a  rosy,  sturdy,  stolid  creature,  on  whom  the  elder 
sister  lavished  all  the  deep  love  of  a  heart  that  was 
to  know  no  other  maternity.  At  last  death  mer- 
t  cif  ully  removed  old  Anson  Hart  to  some  other  place, 
!  —  he  had  long  been  useless  here  ;  but  before  that 
relief  came,  Melinda,  by  this  time  a  young  woman, 
had  married  a  farmer  in  Glover,  and  Amanda  had 
moved  into  Munson,  and  was  there  alone.  She 
"  kinder  scratched  along,"  as  she  phrased  it,  and 
earned  her  living,  if  no  more,  in  the  various  ways 
j  Yankee  ingenuity  can  discover  in  a  large  country 


318    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

town.  She  had  friends  who  helped  her  to  employ 
ment,  and  always  made  her  welcome  in  their  homes  ; 
for  her  quaint  shrewdness,  her  very  original  use,  or 
misuse,  of  language,  her  humor,  and  her  kind  heart 
were  all  pleasant  to  have  about. 

Melinda's  marriage  was  a  brief  experience,, 
She  was  left  a  widow  at  the  end  of  two  years,  with 
a  small  house  and  an  acre  of  land ;  and  there  she 
lived  alone,  on  a  lonely  country  road,  three  miles 
from  the  village  of  Glover,  and  with  no  other  house 
in  sight. 

"  I  guess  it  is  as  good  as  I  can  do,"  she  wrote  to 
.  Amanda.  "  I  can't  sell  the  house,  and  there 's  quite 
a  piece  of  garden  to  it,  besides  some  apple-trees 
and  quince  bushes.  Garden  sass  always  was  the 
most  of  my  living,  and  there  's  some  tailoring  to  be 
did,  so  as  that  I  can  get  a  little  cash.  Then  folks 
are  glad  to  have  somebody  around  killing  times  and 
sech  like.  Mary  Ann  Barker  used  to  do  that,  but 
she  's  been  providentially  removed  by  death,  so  I 
can  step  right  into  her  shoes.  I  guess,  any  way, 
I  '11  chance  it  for  a  spell,  and  see  how  it  works." 
7  Melinda  had  "faculty,"  and  her  scheme  did 
I  "work"  so  well  that  she  lived  in  the  tiny  house 
'for  years,  and  in  all  that  time  Amanda  had  not  seen 
her.  It  was  a  long  journey,  and  money  was  hard 
to  get.  Perhaps  Melinda  might  have  gathered 
enough  to  take  the  journey,  but  she  was  by  no 
means  affectionate  or  sentimental.  Life  was  a 
steady  grind  to  her ;  none  of  its  gentle  amenities 
flourished  in  the  red  house.  She  had  her  "  livin'  " 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    319 

and  was  independent  :  that  sufficed  her.  But 
Amanda  was  more  eager  every  year  to  see  her  sis 
ter.  She  thought  of  her  By  day  and  dreamed  of 
her  by  night  ;  and  after  fifteen  years  her  cracked 
teapot  at  last  held  coin  enough  for  the  expedition. 
Her  joy  was  great,  and  the  tremulous,  sweet  old 
face  was  pathetic  in  its  constant  smiling.  She 
planned  her  journey  as  she  sat  at  work,  and  poured 
her  anticipations  into  all  the  neighbors'  ears  till 
their  sympathy  was  well  worn  out. 

But  at  last  the  day  came.  Amanda's  two  rooms 
were  set  in  order,  the  windows  closed,  every  fly 
chased  out  with  the  ferocity  that  inspires  women 
against  that  intrusive  insect,  and  the  fire  was  raked 
down  to  its  last  spark  the  night  before. 

"  I  don't  care  for  no  breakfast,"  she  said  to  the 
good  woman  in  whose  house  she  lived.  "  I  should 
have  to  bile  the  kettle  and  have  a  cup  and  plate  to 
wash  up  ;  and  like  enough  the  cloth  'd  get  mildewy, 
if  I  left  it  damp.  I  '11  jest  take  a  dry  bite  in  my 
clean  han'k'chief.  I  've  eet  up  all  my  victuals  but 
two  cookies  and  a  mite  of  cheese  that  I  saved  a 
puppus." 

"  Why,  Mandy  Hart !  you  're  all  of  a  twitter ! 
Set  right  down  here  and  hev  a  cup  o'  tea  'long  o' 
me.  You  Jve  got  heaps  o'  time;  now  don't  ye  get 
into  a  swivet !  " 

"  Well,  Mis'  Phelps,  I  thank  you  kindly  ;  a  drop 
of  tea  will  taste  proper  good.  I  expect  I  be  sort  o' 
nervy,  what  with  takin'  a  journey  and  the  thought 
o'  seein'  Melindy.  Now  you  tell :  do  I  look  good 


320    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

enough  to  go  travelin'  ?  I  thought,  first  off,  to 
wear  the  gown  Mis'  Swift  give  me,  —  that  Henery- 
ette,  I  b'lieve  she  called  it ;  but  I  've  sponged  and 
pressed  it  till  it  looks  as  good  as  new,  and  I  sort 
o'  hate  to  set  on  't  in  the  dust  o'  them  cars  all  day. 
I  thought  mabbe  this  stripid  gown  would  do." 

"You  look  as  slick  as  a  pin,"  Mrs.  Phelps 
answered. 

It  was  an  odd  pin,  then  !  The  "  stripid  "  dress 
was  both  short  and  scant  even  for  Amanda's  little 
figure  ;  it  did  not  conceal  an  ancient  pair  of  pru 
nella  shoes  that  use  had  well  fitted  to  her  distorted 
feet,  and  her  ankle-bones,  enlarged  with  rheuma 
tism,  showed  like  doorknobs  under  her  knit  cotton 
stockings.  Over  her  dress  she  wore  a  brown  linen 
duster,  shiny  with  much  washing  and  ironing,  and 
her  queer  little  face  beamed  from  under  a  wide 
black  straw  hat  wreathed  with  a  shabby  band  of 
feather  trimming. 

But  she  did  not  look  amiss  or  vulgar,  and  the  joy 
that  shone  in  her  eyes  would  have  transfigured  sack 
cloth,  and  turned  ashes  into  diamond  dust.  She 
was  going  to  see  Melinda  !  The  unsatisfied  mother 
heart  in  her  breast  beat  fast  at  the  thought.  Neither 
absence  nor  silence  had  cooled  this  one  love  of  her 
life. 

"  I  expect  I  shall  enjoy  the  country  dretf  ully,"  she 
said  to  Mrs.  Phelps.  "  It 's  quite  a  spell  seiice  I  've 
been  there.  Mother,  she  set  such  store  by  green 
things,  trees  and  sech,  and  cinnament  roses,  and 
fennel.  My  land !  she  talked  about  'em  all  through 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    321 

her  last  sickness,  even  when   she  was  dangerous. 
I  shall  be  proper  glad  to  get  out  to  Glover." 

Poor  soul !  all  this  meant  Melinda. 

So  she  trotted  off  to  the  station,  with  her  lunch 
tied  up  in  a  handkerchief  in  one  hand  and  her 
cotton  umbrella  in  the  other,  a  boy  following  with 
her  old  cow-skin  trunk  on  a  wheelbarrow.  He 
was  a  bad  boy,  for  on  the  way  he  picked  up  an 
advertisement  of  a  hair  restorer  and  fastened  it  upon 
that  bald  trunk,  chuckling  fiendishly.  But  this 
was  lost  on  Amanda  ;  she  paid  him  his  quarter  with 
an  ambient  smile,  and  mounted  the  car  steps  with 
sudden  agility.  The  car  was  not  full,  so  she  sat 
down  next  a  window,  struggled  with  a  pocketful  of 
various  things  to  find  her  ticket,  thrust  it  inside 
her  glove,  to  be  ready,  and  resigned  herself  to  the 
journey.  Outside  the  window  were  broad  fields 
green  with  new  grass,  budding  forests,  bright  and 
tranquil  rivers,  distant  mountains,  skies  of  spring,  \ 
blue  to  their  depths,  and  flecked  with  white  cloud-  \ 
fleeces  ;  but  they  were  lost  on  Amanda.  She  had 
not  inherited  her  mother's  tastes :  she  saw  in  all 
this  glory  only  Melinda,  the  rosy  girl  who  had  left 
her  so  long  ago ;  to  that  presence  she  referred  all  j 
nature,  wondering  if  this  quiet  farmhouse  were  like 
that  at  Glover,  if  Melinda's  apple-trees  had 
bloomed  like  those  on  the  hillsides  she  passed,  or 
if  her  sister  could  see  those  far-off  hills  from  her 
windows.  It  was  a  long  day.  The  "  dry  bite  " 
was  a  prolonged  meal  to  our  traveler.  Every 
crumb  was  eaten  slowly,  in  order  to  pass  the  weary 


322    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

time.  Nobody  spoke  to  her ;  the  busy  conductor 
had  short  answers  for  her  various  questions.  She 
was  tired,  dusty,  and  half  homesick  when  at  last 
that  official  put  his  head  in  at  the  door  and  yelled : 
"  Sha-drach !  Sha-drach !  Sha-drach  I  Change 
for  Medway,  Racketts-Town,  and  Glover !  " 

So  Amanda  grasped  her  handkerchief,  and,  helped 
by  her  sturdy  umbrella,  for  she  was  stiff  with  long 
'  sitting,  found  her  way  to  the  door,  and  was,  as  she 
phrased  it,  "  yanked  "  off  the  steps  upon  the  plat 
form  by  an  impatient  brakeman.  Why  should  he 
be  civil  to  a  poor  old  woman  ?  Fortunately  for  her, 
the  stage  for  Glover  stood  just  across  the  platform, 
and  she  saw  the  driver  shoulder  her  bare  brass- 
nailed  trunk  which  was  duly  directed  to  Melinda 
and  Glover.  A  long  five  miles  lay  before  her. 
The  driver  was  not  talkative,  she  was  the  only 
passenger,  and  it  seemed  a  journey  in  itself  before 
the  stage  drew  up  at  the  gate  in  front  of  Mrs. 
Melinda  Perkins's  farmhouse,  and  she  came  out  of 
the  door  to  meet  her  sister.  A  faint  color  rose  to 
Amanda's  cheek,  her  lips  trembled,  her  eyes  glit 
tered,  but  she  only  said,  "  Well,  here  I  be." 

Melinda  smiled  grimly.  She  was  not  used  to 
smiling  ;  there  was  no  sensitive  shyness  about  her. 
Tall  and  muscular,  her  heavy  face,  her  primmed- 
up  mouth,  her  hard  eyes  glooming  under  that  deep 
fold  on  the  lids  that  in  moments  of  anger  narrows  the 
eye  to  a  slit  and  gives  it  a  snaky  gleam,  her  flat,  low 
forehead,  from  which  the  dull  hair  was  strained  , 
back  and  tightly  knotted  behind,  —  all  told  of  a  \ 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    323 

narrow,  severe  nature,  at  once  jealous  and  loveless, 
the  very  antithesis  of  Amanda's.  It  is  true,  she 
stooped  and  kissed  her  sister,  but  the  kiss  was  as 
frigid  as  the  nip  of  a  clamshell. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said,  in  an  overbearing  voice. 
"  Hiram  Young,  you  fetch  that  trunk  in  right  here 
into  the  bedroom." 

"You  '11  hev  to  sleep  'long  o'  me,  Mandy," 
announced  Melinda,  as  she  swung  open  her  bed 
room  door,  "  for  the'  ain't  no  other  place  to  sleep." 

"  Why,  I  sha'nt  object,  not  a  mite,"  beamed 
Amanda.  "  It  '11  seem  like  old  times.  But  you  've 
growed  a  sight,  Melindy." 

"  I  think  likely,  seein'  it 's  quite  a  spell  since  you 
see  me  ;  but  I  've  growed  crossways,  I  guess,"  and 
Melinda  gave  a  hard  cackle. 

"  How  nice  you  're  fixed  up,  too  !  "  said  admiring 
Amanda,  as  she  looked  about  her  in  the  twilight  of 
green  paper  shades  and  spotless  cotton  curtains. 
The  room  was  too  neat  for  comfort ;  there  was  a 
fluffy,  airless  scent  about  it ;  the  only  brightness 
came  from  the  glittering  brasses  of  the  bureau, 
that  even  in  that  half-dark  shimmered  in  well- 
scoured  splendor.  Outside,  the  sweet  June  day 
was  gently  fading,  full  of  fresh  odors  and  young 
breezes ;  but  not  a  breath  entered  that  apartment, 
for  even  a  crack  of  open  window  might  admit  a 
fly! 

Melinda  introduced  her  guest  to  a  tiny  closet  on 
one  side  of  the  chimney,  and  then  went  out  to  get 
tea,  leaving  Amanda  to  unpack  her  trunk.  This 


324    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

was  soon  done,  for  even  that  small  closet  was  more 
than  roomy  enough  for  her  other  dress,  her  duster, 
and  her  hat ;  so  that  she  soon  followed  her  sister, 
guided  by  savory  odors  of  hot  biscuit,  "  picked  " 
codfish,  and  wild  strawberries.  This  was  indeed  a 

'  feast  to  the  "  town  mouse  ;  "  such  luxuries  as  raised 
biscuit  and  aromatic  wild  fruit  were  not  to  be 
indulged  in  at  her  own  home,  and  she  enjoyed  them 
even  more  for  the  faint,  delicious  odor  of  old-fash 
ioned  white  roses  stealing  in  at  the  open  door,  the 
scent  of  vernal  grass  in  the  meadows,  the  rustle  of 
new  leaves  on  the  great  maple  that  shaded  the 
house-corner,  and  the  sharp  chirp  of  two  saucy 
robins  hopping  briskly  about  the  yard. 

It  was  delightful  to  Amanda,  but  when  night  shut 
down  the  silence  settled  on  her  like  a  pall;  she 

i[  missed  the  click  of  feet  on  the  pavement,  the  rattle 
of  horse  cars,  the  distant  shriek  of  railway  trains. 
There  was  literally  not  a  sound;  the  light  wind 
had  died  away,  and  it  was  too  early  in  the  season  for 
crickets  or  katydids,  too  late  for  the  evening  love- 
songs  of  toads  and  frogs. 

In  vain  did  she  try  to  sleep  ;  she  lay  hour  after 
hour  "  listening  to  the  silence,"  and  trying  not  to 
stir,  lest  she  should  wake  Melinda.  Had  a  mouse, 
her  lifelong  terror,  squeaked  or  scratched  in  the 
wall,  it  would  have  relieved  her ;  but  in  this  dead 
stillness  there  was  that  peculiar  horror  of  a  sense 
suddenly  made  useless  that  affects  the  open  eye  in 
utter  darkness,  or  the  palsied  lips  that  can  make  no 
sound. 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    325 

Night  seemed  endless  to  the  poor  little  woman ; 
but  when  at  last  birds  began  to  awake  and  chirp  to 
the  gray  dawn,  she  fell  so  soundly  asleep  that  not 
even  Melinda's  rising,  or  the  clatter  of  her  prepa 
rations  for  breakfast  in  the  next  room,  aroused  her. 
But  her  sister's  voice  was  effectual. 

"  Be  you  a-goin'  to  sleep  all  day  ? "  said  that 
incisive  and  peremptory  tongue. 

The  question  brought  Amanda  to  her  feet,  quite 
ashamed  of  herself. 

"  You  see,"  she  explained  to  Melinda  at  break 
fast,  "  I  did  n't  get  to  sleep  till  nigh  sun-risin',  't  was 
so  amazin'  still." 

"  Still !  That  had  ought  to  have  made  ye  sleep. 
Well,  I  never  did  !  Now  I  can't  sleep  ef  there  's 
a  mite  o'  noise.  I  'd  hev  kep'  chickens  but  for 
that.  Deacon  Parker  wanted  to  give  me  some  o' 
his  white  Braymys,  but  I  said :  '  No  ;  I  've  got 
peace  and  quietness,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  it 
broke  up  by  roosters.' ' 

"  I  s'pose  it 's  accordin'  as  we  're  used  to  't," 
meekly  replied  Amanda,  with  an  odd  sense  of  being 
in  the  wrong,  but  she  said  no  more  ;  she  was  begin 
ning  to  discover  that  it  was  not  serene  bliss  to  be 
with  Melinda  again.  In  their  long  separation  she 
*  had  forgotten  her  sister's  hard  and  abrupt  ways, 
'land  indeed  in  Melinda's  solitary  and  very  lonely 
life  her  angles  had  grown  sharper  and  sharper ;  no 
thing  had  worn  them  off.  We  can  enjoy  idealizing 
a  friend,  but  the  longer  that  ideal  fills  our  hearts  the 
harder  does  reality  scourge  us.  Amanda  could  not 


326    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

have  explained  her  heart-sinking  to  herself.  She 
laid  it  to  the  isolation  of  her  sister's  house,  and, 
while  Melinda  made  bread,  went  out  to  walk  a 
little  way,  to  see  if  she  could  not  enjoy  the  country. 
All  about  lay  green  fields,  wooded  hills,  and  bloom 
ing  orchards ;  for  spring  was  late  here  in  Glover, 
and  only  the  sheltered  hillsides  had  cast  all  blossoms 
from  the  later  trees.  A  deep  sense  of  desolation 
\  clutched  Amanda's  homesick  heart ;  there  was  not 
'-  a  house  to  be  seen,  not  even  a  curl  of  smoke  to  show 
/that  one  might  be  hidden  somewhere.  Used  all  her 
;  days  to  the  throng  and  bustle  of  a  large  town,  she 
\  found  this  country  peace  unendurable.  She  went 
back  to  the  house,  took  up  her  knitting,  and  tried  to 
be  conversational. 

"  Have  n't  got  any  neighbors  at  all,  have  ye, 
Melindy  ?  " 

"  Nearest  is  Deacon  Parker,  V  he  lives  three 
mild  back  behind  Pond  Hill." 

"  My  sakes !  what  if  you  should  be  took  sick  ?  " 

"  But  I  ain't  never  took  sick,"  snapped  Melinda, 
looking  like  a  sturdy  oak-tree  utterly  incapable  of 
ailments. 

"  But  you  might  be ;  nobody  knows  when  their 
time  is  comin'.  Why,  when  I  had  the  ammonia 
last  year,  I  do'no  but  what  I  should  ha'  died, — 
guess  I  should,  —  if  it  had  n't  have  been  for  the 
neighbors." 

"Well,  I  sha'n't  go  over  no  bridges  till  I  come 
to  'em,"  sharply  replied  Melinda,  paring  her  pota 
toes  with  extra  energy. 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    327 

"  Glover  is  quite  a  ways  from  here,  ain't  it  ?  " 
queried  Amanda. 

«  Three  mild." 

Evidently  Melinda  was  not  given  to  talking,  but 
Amanda  would  not  be  discouraged. 

"  Don't  have  no  county  paper,  do  ye  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  n't  got  no  time  to  spend  on  them  ^ 
things.     I  can  'tend   up  to  my  own    business,   if  ! 
other  folks  '11  take  care  of  theirn." 

Amanda  gave  an  inaudible  sigh,  and  tried  no 
more  conversation.  After  dinner  Melinda  did  ask 
a  few  questions,  in  her  turn,  about  old  acquaint 
ances,  but  her  sister's  prattle  was  effectually  cut 
short.  Never  in  her  life  had  Amanda  found  a  day 
so  dreary  or  a  night  so  long,  for  she  had  it  to  dread 
beforehand.  Even  the  sharp  rattle  and  quick  flash 
of  a  June  thunder-storm  was  a  relief  to  her,  for  it 
woke  Melinda,  and  sent  her  about  the  house  to 
shut  a  window  here  and  fasten  down  a  scuttle  there, 
and  for  a  brief  space  kept  her  awake ;  but  after 
that  little  space  the  capable  woman  slept  like  a  log, 
—  she  did  not  even  snore,  —  and  the  night  resumed 
its  deadly  silence. 

Oh,  how  Amanda  longed  for  the  living  noises 
that  she  had  so  often  scolded  about  in  Munson  !    The 
drunken  cackle  of  men  just  out  from  the  saloons,  \ 
the  rapid  rush  of  a  doctor's  carriage  whirling  by  in  ' 
the  small  hours,  a  cross  baby  next  door  that  would 
yell  its  loudest  just  when  she  was  sleepiest,  —  any, 
all  of  these  would  have  been  welcome  in  this  ghastly 
stillness. 


328    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  when  the  rigidly 

recurring  Sunday  breakfast  of  baked  beans  and 

codfish  balls  was  over  Amanda  inquired  timidly: — 

"  Do  you  go  to  meetin'  on   the  Sabbath,  Me- 

lindy?" 

"  Well,  I  guess  so !     We  ain't  clear  heathen." 
"  I  did  n't  know  but  't  was  too  fur  to  walk." 
"  'T  is,  but  Deacon  Parker  goes  right  a-past  here, 
and   stops   for  me.     He's   got  a  two-seater,    and 
there  '11  be  room  for  you,  for  he  don't  take  nobody 
but  me  and  Widder  Drake." 
/"  Where 's  Mis'  Parker  ?  " 
i  "  I  do'no.     She 's  dead." 

\  Amanda's  eyes  opened  wide  at  this  doubtful 
remark  about  the  late  Mrs.  Parker,  but  she  said 
nothing;  she  satisfied  herself  with  watching  Me- 
linda  dress.  Her  Sunday  garments  were  a  black 
alpaca  gown,  shiny  with  age,  what  she  called  a 
"  mantilly  "  of  poor  black  silk  edged  with  ema 
ciated  fringe,  and  the  crowning  horror  of  a  Leghorn 
bonnet, "  cut  down  "  from  its  ancient  dimensions  into 
a  more  modern  scoop,  but  still  a  scoop.  It  was  sur 
mounted  with  important  bows  of  yellow-green  satin 
ribbon  and  a  fat  pink  rose  with  two  stout  buds. 
Amanda  felt  a  chill  run  over  her  at  this  amazing 
head-gear.  She  did  not  know  that  the  rose  was 
Melinda's  last  protest  against  old  age,  her  symbol 
of  lingering  youth,  her  "  no  surrender  "  flag. 

"  Why  don't  you  wear  a  hat,  Melindy  ? "  she 
asked  meekly,  as  she  smoothed  out  the  dejected  band 
of  her  own.  "  Bunnets  is  all  gone  out  down  to 
Munson." 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    329 

"  Well,  they  ain't  here,  and  I  don't  think  it 's 
seemly  to  wear  them  flats  to  meetin' ;  they  '11  do 
to  go  a-huckleberryin'  or  fetchin'  cows  home  from 
pastur',  but,  to  my  mind,  they  're  kinder  childish 
for  meetin'." 

Amanda  said  nothing,  and  just  then  the  deacon 
drove  up  to  the  gate,  —  a  spare  old  man,  with  long, 
scanty  white  hair  and  red-rimmed,  watery  eyes. 
Amanda  was  duly  presented. 

"Make  you  'quainted  with  my  sister,  Mandy 
Hart,  down  to  Munson." 

"  Pleased  to  see  ye,"  bobbed  Deacon  Parker,  with 
a  toothless  grin.  "  I  'd  get  out  to  help  ye  in,  but  old 
Whitey  don't  never  stand  good  without  tyin'  ;  and 
gener'lly  Mis'  Drake  holds  her,  but  she  's  gone  to 
Shadrach  this  week  back.  She 's  gardeen  to  a 
child  over  there,  and  there  's  some  court  business 
about  the  prop'ty." 

"Lawsy!  we  can  get  in  good  enough,"  said 
Melinda,  alertly  climbing  over  the  hind  wheel,  and 
helping  Amanda  to  follow. 

"  Spry,  ain't  she  ?  "  said  the  deacon  to  Amanda, 
with  another  void  and  formless  smile.  "  Huddup, 
Whitey !  We  don't  want  to  be  late  to  the  sanc- 
tooary." 

The  drive  was  beautiful,  and  gave  poor  Amanda 
a  gentler  opinion  of  the  country.  It  wound  by 
little  silver  brooks,  under  the  fragrant  gloom  of 
pine  woods,  and  the  sweet  breath  of  the  fields  filled 
her  weak  lungs  with  new  life.  But  alas !  the 
meeting-house  was  a  square  barn  with  a  sharp 


330    A  TOWN  HOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

steeple,  and  as  she  sat  down  on  the  bare  seat  of 
a  corner  pew,  and  choked  with  the  dead  odors  of 
"  meetin'-seed,"  the  musty  chill  of  the  past  week, 
the  camphor  that  exhaled  from  Sunday  clothes 
but  recently  taken  from  their  wintry  repose,  and 
the  smell  of  boots  that  had  brought  their  scent  of 
stable  and  barnyard,  she  longed  to  be  back  in  the 
handsome,  well-ventilated  church  at  Munson,  with 
the  soft  rustle  of  a  well-dressed,  perfumy  congrega 
tion  about  her,  and  the  sound  of  a  fine  organ  and 
well-trained  choir  in  her  ears,  offended  now  by  the 
tuneless  squalls  and  growls  of  these  country  sing 
ers.  Poor  town  mouse  !  She  was  ready  to  exclaim 
with  the  mouse  of  Horace  :  — 

"  But,  Lord,  my  friend,  this  savage  scene  !  " 

That  very  night  she  told  Melinda  that  she  must 
leave  her  on  Tuesday,  on  account  of  promised  work, 
and  accordingly  Tuesday  saw  her  safely  back  again 
in  dear  Munson.  Her  tiny  rooms  seemed  like  a 
refuge  to  her,  as  she  opened  the  blinds  and  let  in 
the  warm  air.  Her  natural  vivacity,  subdued  by 
Melinda  and  the  solitude  of  the  country,  returned. 

"  Goodness  gracious,  Mis'  Phelps !  "  Amanda 
exclaimed  to  her  landlady,  "  I  would  n't  no  more 
live  in  the  country  than  nothin'.  Why  't  was  as 
still  as  a  ear-trumpet  out  there.  I  'd  ha'  give  all 
my  old  shoes  to  ha'  heard  a  street  car  or  a  coal 
wagon  a-rumblin'  by.  And  lonesome !  There 
was  n't  so  much  as  a  rooster  a-predicatin'  by  in  the 
road.  I  thought  I  should  die  for  want  of  knowin' 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    331 

I  was  alive ;  and  the  nighttime  shuts  down  onto  ye 
like  a  pot-lid.  You  know  you  can't  go  marvelin' 
round  in  other  folks'  houses.  I  jest  had  to  set  and 
knit  daytimes,  and  sense  the  lonesomeness.  I  know 
I  should  have  shockaimm  palsy  if  I  had  to  stay 
there.  Melindy  is  comin'  to  see  me  for  a  spell 
early  in  July,  about  the  Fourth,  when  it 's  kinder 
lively,  and  I  guess  't  '11  wake  her  up  some." 

"  I  expect  you  had  good  country  victuals  and 
plenty  o'  flowers,  though  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Phelps,  in 
the  indirect  Yankee  fashion. 

"  Well,  I  did.  Melindy  's  a  most  an  excellent 
cook,  and  the'  was  a  patch  of  wild  strawberries 
growed  to  the  south  side  of  her  old  barn  that  was 
ripe  a'ready ;  they  have  got  taste  into  'em,  I  tell 
ye  !  But,  land !  victuals  and  drink  ain't  the  chief 
o'  my  diet.  I  'm  real  folksy ;  grasshoppers  ain't  no 
neighbors  to  me.  I  want  to  be  amongst  them  that  '11 
talk  back  to  me ;  not  dumb  things  that  won't  never 
say  nothing  if  you  should  merang  'em  all  day." 

"  Why,  how  you  talk !  How  does  Mis'  Perkins 
stan' it?" 

"  I  do'no.  I  expect  she  's  hardened  to  it,  as 
you  may  say.  I  'd  jest  as  lives  set  down  on  a  slab 
in  the  sempitery  all  my  days  as  to  stay  out  to 
Melindy's.  I  do'no  but  I  'd  ruther ;  for  there  'd  be 
funerals,  and  mourners,  and  folks  comin'  to  dese 
crate  the  graves  with  flowers,  and  sech,  intervenin' 
'most  every  day  there.  'T  would  be  real  lively  in 
comparison  with  Melindy's  house." 

Now  Amanda  set  herself  to  adorn  her  little  rooms 


332    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTEY  MOUSE. 

and  keep  them  in  spotless  order  till  her  sister  should 
come ;  and  when  that  happy  day  arrived  she  met 
her  at  the  station,  her  smiling  old  face  as  pleasant 
as  a  hollyhock  blossom. 

"  If  I  ain't  tickled,  now !  "  she  beamed  on 
Melinda.  "  I  've  reelly  got  you  here." 

"  I  said  I  'd  come,  did  n't  I  ?  "  answered  Melinda, 
with  a  laborious  smile.  "  I  have  n't  fetched  no 
great  of  clothes,  for  I  can't  stay  long;  fruit  is 
comin'  in,  and  I  've  got  to  make  preserves  for  quite 
a  few  folks  down  to  Glover." 

She  secretly  blessed  herself  for  making  this 
announcement  early,  when  she  reached  Amanda's 
little  tenement :  two  rooms  over  a  grocer's  store, 
redolent  with  smells  of  kerosene,  cloves,  pepper, 
and  the  like,  added  to  the  fumes  of  bad  tobacco 
from  customers'  pipes. 

Not  only  smells,  but  dust  and  the  heat  of  a 
blazing  July  day  added  to  her  discomfort,  though 
she  had  the  grace  not  to  complain ;  and  when 
Amanda  had  laid  aside  that  wonderful  "  bunnet," 
and  set  Melinda  by  the  north  window  with  a  fan, 
the  country  mouse  felt  a  little  more  comfortable. 
The  tea  daunted  her ;  she  could  not  eat  the  sliced 
"  Bolony,"  as  Amanda  called  it ;  the  baker's  bread 
was  dust  and  ashes  to  her  taste  ;  the  orange  mar 
malade  found  no  favor,  though  it  was  a  delicacy 
Amanda  had  kept  for  this  special  purpose,  the  gift 
of  a  friend.  Poor  Melinda  gave  afterward  a  graphic 
description  of  this  dainty  meal  to  Deacon  Parker. 

"  I  never  see  sech  victuals  in  my  life  I     No  won* 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    333 

der  Mandy  's  lean.  Cake  and  bread  jest  like  saw 
dust,  and,  if  you  '11  believe  it,  raw  sassages,  actooally 
raw,  sliced  up  on  a  dish !  I  never  could  eat  raw 
meat,  much  less  pork.  And  the  preserves  was  as 
bitter  as  boneset !  I  went  hungry  to  bed,  you  'd 
better  believe." 

Yet  worse  was  in  store  for  the  country  mouse. 
Amanda  had  given  up  her  bed  to  her  visitor,  and 
lain  down  on  the  sitting-room  lounge ;  and  though 
it  was  a  breathless  night,  at  first  Melinda  slept,  she 
was  so  tired,  in  spite  of  the  noisy  horse  cars,  rat 
tling  wagons,  and  click  of  feet. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  third  of  July,  and  as  a 
neighboring  church  clock  struck  twelve  the  first 
giant  cracker  exploded  right  under  the  bedroom 
window.  Roused  by  the  crash,  that  was  followed 
fast  by  another  and  another,  Melinda  started  up  in 
all  the  terror  of  darkness  and  din,  screaming :  — 

"  Mandy !  Mandy !  where  be  ye  ?  What  on 
earth  's  the  matter  ?  " 

Smiling  superior,  though  but  half  awake,  Amanda 
answered :  — 

"  'T  ain't  nothin'  ;  it  's  the  Fourth,  and  them 
boys  is  a-settin'  off  crackers.  Pesky  little  sarpents ! 
I  s'pose  there  is  a  puppus  in  boys,  but  I  've  wished 
frequent  that  men  growed  out  o'  somethin'  more 
pleasant.  You  turn  over  an'  go  to  sleep,  sister ; 
the'  won't  nothin'  do  ye  no  harm." 

"Oh-h!"  shrieked  Melinda  again,  as  a  cannon 
roared  from  the  green  close  by,  and  then  the  whole 
pandemonium  set  in. 


334    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

I  The  cat  Civilization,  with  the  ribbon  of  simulated 
patriotism  round  its  neck,  set  upon  our  country 
mouse  now  with  feline  fury.  Every  noise  that 
could  be  made  by  gunpowder,  horns,  or  bells,  as 
well  as  yelling  boys,  crashed  upon  this  poor  wo 
man's  head  till  she  was  all  but  crazy.  How  she 
longed  for  the  sweet  quiet  of  her  own  home,  and 
longed  in  vain,  for  she  could  not  get  away !  Stern 
and  silent  as  she  seemed  to  be,  she  was  but  a  wo 
man,  and  a  real  feminine  panic  ensued. 

Amanda  had  her  hands  full  for  the  rest  of  the 
night.  Her  panacea  of  "  red  lavender "  was  use 
less,  and  this  was  no  case  for  her  favorite  salve  that 
cured  everything.  She  fanned  Melinda,  soothed 
her  as  she  best  knew  how,  and  tried  with  all  her 
heart  to  comfort  and  compose  the  frightened  wo 
man,  steadied  herself  by  a  shy  sense  of  superiority 
and  courage  to  which  Melinda  could  not  attain. 
But  not  until  sunrise  dispersed  the  crowd  of  cele- 
brators,  and  a  sort  of  silence  replaced  the  clamor, 
could  Melinda  close  her  eyes  and  snatch  a  nap  be 
fore  breakfast. 

Coffee,  steak,  and  stewed  potato  she  could  eat 
when  that  breakfast  came  ;  and  later  on,  when 
Amanda  said  timidly,  "Would  you  like  to  walk 
out  a  ways  ?  'T  is  n't  quite  so  hot,  and  we  can 
get  a  good  place  to  see  the  percession,"  Melinda 
did  not  refuse.  She  was  glad  to  get  out-of-doors, 
but  nothing  could  induce  her  to  ride  in  the  horse 
cars  ;  so  Amanda  guided  her  about  the  pretty  town, 
showed  her  the  public  buildings,  the  fine  houses  of 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    335 

summer  residents,  the  various  churches,  and  the  gay 
shop-windows,  till,  worn  out,  they  sat  down  on  one 
of  the  hard  benches  set  here  and  there  on  the  green, 
to  wait  for  the  event  of  the  day. 

"  Who  goes  into  the  pr'cession  ?  "  inquired  Me- 
linda. 

u  Oh,  fire  comp'nies,  an'  temperance  s'cieties,  the 
perlice,  and  th'  elect  men.  Bands,  too,  —  brass 
bands  with  insterments." 

Melinda  stared  her  fill  at  the  melange  that  soon 
wheeled  by. 

"  Say,  Mandy,  what  be  them  fellers  with  muffs 
on  their  heads,  a-throwin'  up  sticks  and  ketchin'  of 
'em  ?  " 

4  They  call  'em  drum  majors,  I  b'lieve,  though 
I  don't  see  no  drums.  I  do  lot  on  seein'  'em  al 
ways,  they  're  so  pompious,  and  yet  so  spry.  Look  ! 
d'  ye  see  that  one  catch  his  batten  an'  twirl  it?  " 

Melinda  nodded  her  great  bonnet,  which  had  all 
day  attracted  nearly  as  much  attention  as  she  be 
stowed  on  the  drum  majors,  but  she  was  tired 
enough  to  go  home  now  and  enjoy  a  cold  dinner. 

Perhaps  she  thought  the  terrors  of  the  day  were 
over,  but  they  were  not.  For  years  before  her  mar 
riage  they  had  all  lived  in  the  deep  country,  so  that 
the  most  common  sights  of  the  town  were  unknown 
to  her ;  and  when  Amanda  insisted  on  her  going 
out  to  see  the  fireworks  that  wound  up  that  holi 
day,  Melinda's  nerves  received  another  shock.  The 
star-dropping  rockets,  the  spitting  pinwheels,  the 
soft  roar  of  Roman  candles,  the  blare  of  "  set " 


33G    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

pieces,  neither  pleased  nor  interested  her ;  she  was 
in  terror  lest  those  irresponsible  fire-flakes  should 
light  on  her  Sunday  bonnet,  and  every  fierce  rush 
of  a  rocket  made  her  jump  with  fresh  fear. 

"  Don't  say  116  more,  Mandy  !  "  she  declared  the 
next  day,  when  her  sister  tried  to  have  her  stay 
longer.  "  I  've  got  to  go.  I  could  n't  stan'  it  an 
other  minute.  I  'm  real  obleeged  to  ye  for  what 
ye  've  did  to  make  it  pleasant  for  me,  but  I  can't 
stan'  a  town.  I  'm  all  broke  up  a'ready,  and  I  'm 
as  homesick  as  a  cat  to  get  back.  I  'd  rather  have 
a  hovil  out  in  the  lots  than  a  big  house  here. 
There  's  too  many  other  folks  here  for  me.  I  wish 
't  you  'd  come  out  to  Glover  and  make  it  home 
'long  o'  me." 

"  Land,  Melindy !  I  could  n't  live  there  an 
hour.  I  should  die  of  clear  lonesomeness,  —  I  know 
I  should.  Why,  when  I  had  the  neurology  in  my 
diagram,  last  winter,  and  there  come  a  dretful  snow, 
so  as  that  the  neighbors  could  n't  none  of  'em  hap 
pen  in,  I  thought  't  would  finish  me  up.  What 
should  I  do  if  I  was  took  sick  to  your  house  ?  No 
doctor,  no  folks  around !  It  makes  me  caterpiller 
to  think  on't.  But  I  'm  jest  as  obleeged,  and  I 
hope  you  '11  come  to  Munson  some  time  when  't 
ain't  the  Fourth." 

So  Melinda  went  back  to  her  solitude,  and 
Amanda  settled  down  again  to  her  town  life,  yet 
with  a  vague  sense  of  trouble.  She  could  not  have 
defined  it,  but  it  really  was  the  consciousness  that, 
having  obtained  her  heart's  desire,  it  had  not 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    337 

satisfied  her.     We  all  come  to  it  sooner  or  later. 
"  I  shall  be  satisfied,  when  I  awake,  with  thy  like-   \ 
ness,"  says  David.     Is  not  the  phrase  a  tacit  con-    ' 
f  ession  that  nothing  on  earth  had  ever  satisfied  him,   / 
king  and  poet  as  he  was  ? 

A  month  or  two  after  Melinda  went  back  to 
Glover,  Amanda  received  a  more  positive,  an  ap 
preciable  shock  in  the  following  letter :  — 

DEAR  MANDY,  —  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  in 
form  you  that  I  am  usually  well  and  hope  you  en 
joy  the  same  blessing.  I  have  been  busy  continual 
sence  I  come  back,  finding  quite  a  little  to  do  about 
the  house  and  gardin. 

I  supose  I  had  better  speak  wright  out,  though 
you  will  be  some  surprised  I  expect  to  hear  that  I  am 
intending  for  to  change  my  condishun  soon.  Fact 
is  Deacon  Parker  and  I  calculate  to  be  joined  in 
the  bans  of  Matrimony  Monday  next,  't  was  quite 
onexpected  to  me  when  he  spoke,  but  after  a  think 
ing  of  it  over  it  looked  as  though  the'  was  a  Provi 
dence  into  it  for  I  called  to  mind  what  you  said 
about  iny  being  took  sick  here  all  alone,  and  though 
I  am  not  fur  along  in  years,  nor  sickly,  still  the'  is 
sech  a  thing  as  accidents  to  be  pervided  against  at 
all  times.  I  have  heered  folks  say  that  they  would 
n't  be  no  man's  fourth,  but  law !  what 's  the  differ 
ence  ?  The  others  is  all  dead,  and  buried. 

We  sha'n't  make  no  weddin',  but  he  and  me  will 
be  pleased  to  see  you  when  you  can  make  it  con 
venient  to  come  out  to  Glover  for  a  spell.  Mabbe 


338    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

you  would  n't  be   so  lonesome  now  for  he  keeps 
quite  a  few  chickens  ;  he 's  a  master  hand  for  eggs. 
So  no  more  at  present  from 

Yourn  truly  MELINDY  PERKINS. 

"  Oh,  Lorcly !  "  shrieked  Amanda,  as  Mrs. 
Phelps  opened  the  door  and  she  dropped  her  let 
ter.  "  Oh  !  I  never  did !  What  upon  airth  is  she 
a-thinkin' of  ?  Heavens  to  Betsey  !  that  miser 'ble 
old  stick !  " 

"  Why,  Mandy  Hart,  what 's  befell  you  ?" 

"  Befell  me  ?  'T  ain't  me.  I  ain't  nobody's  fool. 
Mis'  Phelps,  Melindy  is  a-goin'  to  marry  a  old 
feller  out  to  Glover  as  white-headed  an'  red-eyed  as 
a  albinia  rabbit,  and  as  toothless  as  a  punkin  lan 
tern.  Pos'tive !  I  don't  no  more  see  how  she  can  ! 
Moreover,  she  sort  of  twits  me  with  sayin'  that  I 
should  n't  know  how  to  be  took  sick  in  her  house, 
't  was  so  lonesome,  and  no  doctor  within  five  mild, 
and  no  way  of  gettin'  to  one  at  that.  Says  that  put 
it  into  her  head  !  " 

"  Well  off,  ain't  he?  "  asked  Mrs.  Phelps,  with 
the  crisp  acerbity  of  a  woman  who  knows  her 
world. 

"  She  says  he 's  got  means  and  she  '11  hev  a  home. 
A  home,  with  that  little  ferret  a-hoverin'  around  the 
hull  endurin'  time  !  I  'd  ruther  grind  a  hand-organ 
round  Munson  streets  !  I  did  n't  think  Melindy 
could:' 

Two  irrepressible  tears  trickled  down  the  grieved 
old  face  from  eyes  that  were  sadder  than  the  tears. 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    339 

But  Amanda  had  made  her  moan.  She  did  not 
answer  Melinda's  letter ;  she  went  on  her  tedious 
way  with  more  patience  but  less  cheer  than  ever, 
and  the  next  thing  she  heard  of  her  sister  was  the 
following  spring,  when  a  note  from  Deacon  Parker 
arrived,  running  thus  :  — 

Miss  AMANDY  HAKT,  —  This  is  to  inform  you 
that  your  sister  is  real  sick  with  a  fever  ;  the  doctor 
thinks  she  's  dangerous.  She 's  kep  a-askin'  for  you 
for  a' week  back,  but  I  did  n't  pay  no  attention  to  't, 
thought  she  was  kind  of  flighty  and  't  would  only  be 
a  bill  of  expense  to  send  for  ye.  But  now  Doctor 
Fenn  says  she 's  got  to  hev  a  nuss  any  way,  so  I  be 
thought  me  to  send  for  you.  I  expect  to  pay  your 
way  so  I  put  in  a  five  dollar  bill.  If  you  '11  come  a 
Wednesday  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  ye. 
Yours  to  command, 

AMMI  PARKER. 

Amanda  was  alert  immediately ;  she  had  short 
notice  to  set  her  house  in  order  and  buy  a  few  little 
delicacies  for  her  sister.  A  born  nurse,  she  knew 
just  what  to  get  and  what  to  take,  and  was  ready 
to  set  off  on  the  early  train  next  day.  The  jour 
ney  seemed  longer  than  before,  the  stage  road  was 
heavy,  and  it  was  much  further  to  the  deacon's 
house  than  to  her  sister's.  She  found  Melinda  very 
ill  indeed. 

"  You  poor  dear  soul ! "  Amanda  said,  as  she 
bent  over  her  sister,  with  her  heart  in  her  kind  eyes. 


340    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

"  I  wish 't  you  'd  sent  for  me  before.  I  wish  I  had 
ye  down  to  Munson  in  the  Home  Hospittle ;  you  'd 
be  so  much  better  off." 

A  flash  of  hot  color  surged  up  into  the  sick 
woman's  sallow,  listless  face ;  she  lifted  herself, 
with  the  sudden  force  of  will,  higher  on  her  pil 
low  ;  a  weak,  hoarse  voice  issued  from  her  black 
ened  lips. 

"  I  would  n't  go !  Don't  ye  speak  on  't !  None 
o'  them  institootions  for  me.  I  ain't  so  low  down 
as  that,  —  not  yet !  "  It  was  the  last  protest  of 
sturdy  independence  ;  she  sank  down  again,  and 
began  muttering  to  herself. 

Amanda  looked  about  her  to  see  what  could  be 
done.  The  room  was  small  and  dark,  opening  out 
of  the  kitchen.  The  one  window  faced  the  north  ; 
not  a  ray  of  sun  ever  visited  it,  and  its  outlook  was 
on  a  rough  lane  leading  to  the  near  barnyard.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  lane  was  a  swamp,  where  the 
first  grass  was  just  greening  the  tussocks,  and 
folded  cones  of  skunk  cabbage  were  slowly  growing 
up  out  of  the  black  stagnant  water.  The  window 
could  not  be  opened  ;  evidently  no  one  had  tried  to 
open  it  since  it  was  paint-stuck,  years  ago.  She 
could  do  nothing  there,  so  she  set  the  door  wide  into 
the  kitchen  and  opened  the  outer  door.  Fumes  of 
boiling  cabbage  and  frying  pork  came  into  the  bed- 
'room  in  clouds,  but  there  was  fresh  air  mingled 
with  them.  Melinda  lay  in  the  hollow  of  a  feather 
bed,  burning  with  typhoid  fever,  and  Amanda 
could  not  lift  her  without  help ;  the  deacon  was 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    341 

milking,  and  old  Moll  Thunder,  the  temporary 
"  help,"  was  half  drunk.  Amanda  thought  with  a 
pang  of  the  clean  rooms  and  easy  beds  of  the  Cot 
tage  Hospital  at  Munson,  the  white-capped  nurses, 
the  skillful  doctors,  and  her  heart  sank,  though  she 
knew,  from  long  experience  of  sickness,  that  no 
human  power  could  save  Melinda  now ;  but  it 
might  have  been  otherwise,  and  she  was  her  only 
sister,  the  last  tie  of  kindred  blood.  She  did  what 
she  could  to  make  the  poor  woman  comfortable,  but 
it  was  too  late.  Melinda  did  not  utter  a  rational 
/word  again  :  a  few  broken  whispers,  —  "  To  home," 
! "  What  a  green  medder  !  "  "  Tell  Mandy,"  — 
•and  then  stupor  overpowered  all  her  faculties. 
There  were  a  few  hours  of  sonorous  breathing ; 
the  stern  features  settled  into  the  pinched  masque 
of  death.  Melinda  had  gone  beyond  her  sister's 
help. 

"Yes,"  said  Amanda,  the  week  after,  to  Mrs. 
Phelps,  who  had  come  in  to  sympathize  with  her, 
"  she  was  dretf ul  sick  when  I  got  there  ;  reelly  you 
may  say  she  was  struck  with  death.  And  now  the 
last  one  I  'd  got  lies  a-buried  in  the  sand  an'  stuns 
in  that  lonesome  graveyard,  full  o'  hardbacks  and 
mulleins.  'T  wa'n't  much  of  a  funeral,  but  I  had 
'em  sing  Jordan,  for  you  know  it  tells  about  '  sweet 
,  fields  beyond  the  swellin'  flood ; '  and  she  favored 
the  country  so,  it  seemed  sort  o'  considerate  so  to 
do.  Oh,  dear !  she  was  all  the  sister  I  'd  got, 
Mis'  Phelps,  and  't  is  a  real  'fliction.  Deacon 


342    A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE. 

Parker  was  a  mind  to  have  me  stay  'long  o'  him, 
for  company ;  he  was,  pos'tive !  But  mercy  !  I 
should  ha'  gone  crazy  a-lookin'  at  him,  if  I 
had !  " 

Now  Amanda  was  alone  indeed :  she  had  been 
so  for  years,  but  there  had  always  been  an  aim  and 
object  to  her  life  ;  Melinda  was  in  her  mind  and 
on  her  heart.  The  pleasant  expectations,  the  frail 
hopes,  that  had  been  so  dear  to  her  tried  in  vain  to 
live :  they  had  no  resting  point ;  they  recoiled  on 
her  with  a  dull  sense  of  want  and  solitude.  She 
grew  listless,  feeble,  and  sad ;  yet  when  a  friend  or 
neighbor  came  in  to  see  her  she  brightened  up,  and 
was  so  cheery  that  it  was  a  surprise  to  them  all 
when  she  took  to  her  bed  and  had  a  doctor.  He 
could  find  nothing  that  seemed  to  warrant  her 
weakness ;  ordered  nourishment,  as  doctors  do,  gave 
her  some  harmless  pills,  and  went  away  smiling. 

"  He  do'no  nothin'  what  ails  me,"  Amanda  said 
in  a  half  whisper  to  Mrs.  Phelps.  "  I  guess  I  've 
got  through.  I  've  always  looked  forrard  to  Me- 
lindy's  comin'  finally  to  live  with  me ;  an'  fust  she 
went  an'  married  that  old  Parker,  an'  then  she  up 
an'  died.  I  wish  't  I  'd  ha'  stayed  with  her  longer ; 
mabbe  she  would  n't  have  died.  She  was  n't  old  ; 
not  nigh  so  old  as  I  be.  I  feel  as  though  there  was 
n't  nothin'  to  live  for ;  but  I  s'pose  if  't  is  the 
Lord's  will  I  shall  live,  only  I  guess  't  ain't.  I 
feel  a  goneness  that  I  never  had  ketch  hold  o'  me 
before.  Well,  I  sha'n't  be  lonesome,  anyway  ; 
there  's  many  mansions,  and  they  tell  about  the 


A  TOWN  MOUSE  AND  A  COUNTRY  MOUSE.    343 

holy  city ;   and  all  my  folks  is  there  —  or  some 
where." 

A  vague  look  clouded  her  eyes  for  an  instant,  but 
she  was  too  weak  to  speculate.      Once  more  she 
'  spoke,  very  softly  :  — 

\     "  I  hope  M'lindy  likes  it.    «  Sweet  fields,'  —  that 
<'?s  what  the  hymn  tells  about." 

She  turned  her  head  on  the  pillow,  sighed  —  and 
was  gone. 


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